


Roses of Erebor

by LadyKnightSkye



Series: Of Ravens and Roses [1]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Bifur Adopts All the Strays, F/M, Female Bilbo, Playing with Canon, Romance, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-20
Updated: 2016-01-12
Packaged: 2018-03-24 21:26:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 42,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3784843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyKnightSkye/pseuds/LadyKnightSkye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>A dragon maid and a raven prince,</i><br/>A daughter of stars and a son of stone,<br/>A Maiar long lost, now found again,<br/>A Raven and a Rose.</p><p> </p><p><i>Bring them together and Sauron shall fall.</i> - prophecy cast by Irmo, Vala of Dreams and Visions. </p><p>But the words of the Valar are of little worth to Mistress Belladonna Rose Baggins. Nope, she's got to deal with the dwarves that have invaded her house, including the king that just fell at her feet! As this young hobbit lass gets pulled into a very unexpected journey, she finds herself at the center of a destiny that will change the face of Middle-Earth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Hobbit Lass

The kitchen was full of the scents of baking when the first ring of the bell sounded throughout her home. The first ring was rather gentle and slightly tentative, but the second and the third were more strident, demanding attention and demanding it _now_. Belle Baggins looked up from the pie crust she was busy rolling out with a look of wide-eyed shock. “Oh no!” she squeaked, suddenly remembering that she’d invited a wizard to tea. Quickly she hurried down the halls of her cozy smial, wringing flour encrusted hands the entire time. The cheery yellow walls and warm wood furnishings passed in a blur as she all but ran to answer the door. “Oh, and I’m not even dressed!” she groaned, looking down at her dirty brown smock. 

She threw open the door and was greeted not by a tall wizard, but by a burly dwarf. He was taller than her by about a head, and a good bit wider at shoulder and hip. He was dressed in rough traveling clothes, and his brown hair fell long from an almost perfect tonsure. The bare top of his head looked like it might be tattooed. His eyes twinkled as he took in her round face that had a smudge of flour streaked across her cheek. “Ah, you must be the hobbit lass,” he rumbled as he edged around her shocked form and hung his cloak on one of the numerous pegs that lined her entrance hall. 

“Yes,” she said weakly, “I think. Wait, what?”

“I am Dwalin,” he said. “And I am given to understand that there is tea?”

“Yes, yes,” she murmured in absolute confusion, leading him to her tea room. A small round table with four comfy chairs sat in the middle of a smallish room that took advantage of its position in the hill to have two windows facing the western sky. “Please, sit. I am currently cooking some pies. I’ll have tea for you in a moment.” She left the room and then rushed back in her face flaming red from deep embarrassment. “And I apologize profusely, but I am Belle Baggins, at your service!””

The dwarf chuckled and nodded. Then he smiled at her as he examined the hall. “Cozy.”

Belle returned the smile timidly and rushed back into her kitchen. A dwarf! She wasn’t sure what was going on, but Gandalf’s words from the day before rose up in her mind. _I am looking for someone to go on an adventure._

She froze for a moment. Gandalf wanted her to go on an adventure. She had the sudden impulse to go back to the tea room and tell the dwarf to leave now, but another part of her that sounded oddly like her mother was telling her, no, let him stay. After a moment, the part that sounded awfully like Belladonna Took-Baggins won. She quickly began to brew tea. 

Belle was busy putting together a tea tray, but the bell on her front door once again interrupted her. She rushed down the hall, hoping to see Gandalf on the other side of the door only to be greeted by another dwarf. He was dressed moderately well with dusty but well-made clothes, and his face was a rather friendly one. This one wasn’t as bulky as the first, and had a shock of white hair in addition to his full beard. “Ah, the hobbit lass!” he said as he bowed. “Balin at your service.”

She curtseyed with a more confident smile than she had been able to muster for the first dwarf. She thought perhaps it was this one’s polite manner or his grandfatherly face that made her feel a bit more comfortable. “Belle Baggins.”

He bustled in and hung his cloak next to the first. “Ah! I see my brother Dwalin is here already.”

“Oh! You’re brothers,” she murmured as she led him to his brother. “I can see the resemblance now.”

He answered that with a bright smile before letting her lead him down to the tea room. “I will be back momentarily with some tea.”

“Ah, you wouldn’t happen to have seed cakes would you?” Balin asked with a twinkling eye. He had an easy charm that Belle found soothing even in her slight panic at having dwarves suddenly descend upon her home. 

“Oh,” she answered brightly, “You’re in luck! I have a batch fresh-baked!”

After bustling about her kitchen and putting together a tray for three, she brought it into the tea room. After serving her guests, she joined them for a few moments. Belle didn’t really follow what they were talking about at first since it was in a language she didn’t recognize, but they began praising her home and cooking after she’d taken a few sips of tea. The respite was short lived. Another knock sounded, and Belle rushed down the halls, hoping that this time it was Gandalf. She was ultimately disappointed. 

“Well, well!” said the blond dwarf. 

“Gandalf didn’t mention that the hobbit lass would be a beauty!” said the brunet. 

Belle blinked several times before she could form any sort of coherent statement. Both of them were young and not nearly as craggy-faced as the first two. The blonde’s beard was styled neatly with braids framing his mouth and the brunet’s beard was close cropped. For a soft, round daughter of the Shire, these two were much closer to her ideal of handsomeness. “Uh, thank you. I am Belle Baggins.”

“Fíli!” said the blond with a deep bow. 

“And I am his younger brother Kíli!” said the brunet with his own bow. 

She gestured for them to come in, finally acquiescing to the fact that she would have to endure the company of dwarves tonight. It was probably a good thing that she didn’t realize that both of the young dwarves were staring at her rump as they followed her down the rounded halls of her home. After she had seated them with Balin and Dwalin she fetched two more cups, and more snacks. She sat down on an extra chair that Fíli was more than happy to fetch from another room, and immediately got swept into the discussion about trading that had already begun to rage around her. Bagginses had been part of trade throughout the Shire for many years and the Tooks were familiar with all sorts of exotic goods thanks to their many adventures. Thanks to her mother and father, Belle could follow and even join in this particular discussion – much to the delight of the dwarves. 

It was rapidly moving towards supper, but she found that she enjoyed the company that she found on her doorstep. Balin had a certain gentility that spoke to her hobbit soul, and Dwalin was gruff yet had a certain rough charm to him. Kíli and Fíli were both diverting and fun. She had forgotten how good it was to flirt, seeing as suitors had been few and far between in these last few years. Most of the eligible young men of the Shire had either found another lass that was more to their liking or somehow disapproved of her Took lineage. Never mind that the Tooks were enormously wealthy in their own right, it was more worrisome that the Tooks were wild and adventurous in a society that didn’t value such.

As the afternoon wore on, she had to get to up to admit several more dwarves. In came Gloin and Oin, then Dori, Nori, and Ori. Later, Bifur, Bofur, and Bombur came rolling in, literally, at the feet of Gandalf. 

When Belle finally set eyes on the wizard, her eyes narrowed dangerously. “Could you have warned me that I would be welcoming a veritable herd of dwarves along with you?”  
“And have you suddenly feel an urge to visit your cousins on the other side of Hobbiton?” the grey-haired wizard said with a droll look. 

She merely harrumphed as she led the last group down to the dining room. They’d moved the party after the arrival of Gloin and Oin since the tea room was much too small. The dwarves and wizard were greeted warmly by their fellows. “Where is Thorin?” Balin asked. 

“He will be along shortly,” Gandalf answered. 

Belle shook her head as she returned to the kitchen. It was time for dinner, and she had thirteen guests to feed. As she cooked, she began to sing softly to herself. It was a simple hobbit ballad, about a young lass and her bonny lad. She didn’t realize until she heard someone begin to sing with her that she had been joined in her kitchen. Whirling, she realized that young Kíli – for she had learned from Dwalin earlier that Kíli was indeed the youngest of their party – was standing in the doorway bearing several empty dishes. 

“Balin told me to bring these to you so that you could refill them if needed.”

“Oh! Thank you!” she said with a bright smile. “I’ll just take these. Supper will be done in a trice!” 

The handsome dwarf returned her smile. “You have a pretty voice, and I liked the song you were singing.”

She nodded her head with a blush. “Thank you. I often sing in the kitchen.”

Kíli ducked his head a little. “Maybe later, once we’ve eaten, you’ll sing with us? We dwarves are fond of after dinner singing.”

“Well then, dwarves and hobbits aren’t so different after all!” Belle answered brightly. “I would love to sing for you after dinner.”

Kíli opened his mouth to say something more, but both heard the loud knock on the front door. Belle gave Kíli a smile as she went to answer it. She didn’t realize that the dwarf youth followed her, intending to greet his beloved uncle. 

~~  
The sky was an indigo cloak above Thorin Oakenshield’s head. He sighed, leaning against the door of the hobbit hole that bore the mark Gandalf had told them to look for. It had been a long journey to this place, and when he’d finally reached the town of Hobbiton, he’d found its streets more confusing than a rabbit’s warren. The lanes twisted and turned in what seemed to be nonsensical patterns, and he’d spent a good half an hour just figuring out that apparently each hill was a house or bank of houses. The biggest round doors were the front entrances, and finally he found the one that had Gandalf’s mark. 

His weariness caused him to lean a bit more heavily on the door. His cousins had refused to help him unless he already possessed the Arkenstone. Without the Heart of the Mountain, he could not retake Erebor. He could not return his people to their rightful home. 

Thorin’s deep ruminations were interrupted by the door abruptly being pulled away from his back. There was a very un-kingly flail as he fell backwards, thankfully saving some of his dignity by not letting loose a yelp. He hit the ground, his head bouncing off of the hardwood flooring – granted it didn’t do much to his naturally hard head. He blinked up at the face of the short woman standing over him with a mortified expression written across her round little face. 

“I am so sorry!” she cried. “I didn’t realize that you were there!” 

She reached down to grasp him by the hand and help him back to his feet. The entire time there was a litany of “I’m so sorry,” and “My deepest apologies,” that eventually annoyed him enough to elicit a snapped, “ _It is nothing._ ”

After his short manner, she merely stood silently as he straightened his clothing, neither of them noticing Kíli peeking around the corner. The young dwarven prince was trying his best not to laugh aloud as he watched his uncle literally falling at Belle’s feet. He’d never seen his uncle in such a ridiculous position, but he knew enough of Thorin’s temper to realize that he probably didn’t want to reveal that he’d seen that particular display. It would be bad enough that the hobbit had borne witness. 

The dwarven king regarded the hobbit with a critical eye. She was short and built upon relatively petite lines. The dress she wore flattered the curve of hip and bosom, but compared to dwarrowdams she was scrawny. Dwarven women had the beauty of the mountains. This hobbit had the beauty of a . . . tree. Perfectly all right to look at, but one good storm and she would be destroyed. 

She bit her lip, and said quietly, “So, you must be the last of the company.” She curtseyed, dainty hands clutching her linen shift. Her long curly brown hair fell like a curtain around her friendly face. “It’s a pleasure to have you at Bag’s End. I’m Belle Baggins.”

He bowed his head in respect for his hostess, and possible burglar. “I am Thorin Oakenshield. I thank you for your hospitality.”

Belle gave him a small smile, and gestured for him to follow her. She led him through the tunnels that made him again think of a rabbit’s warren, and as they turned a bend, he found himself face to face with his youngest nephew. “Uncle!” Kíli cried out with a wide smile. “I’d had hoped that was you!”

Thorin allowed a smile to grace his face as he and his nephew hugged. “And where is Fíli?”

“He’s back with the others enjoying Mistress Baggins’s lovely cooking.” Kíli shot a smile to the hobbit lass, and Thorin noted that her cheeks pinked pleasantly. Kíli and Thorin let Belle lead the way, and the elder Durin noted how Kíli watched the hobbit, and mentally shook his head. Kíli was very fond of the ladies, and was indiscriminate of what race they were. 

“I hope you lot left enough for me to sample this lovely cooking,” Thorin murmured to his sister’s son.

“Oh, yes,” Belle answered instead, “I set some aside for you. Here, Kíli lead him the rest of the way if you could and I’ll pop into the kitchen to fetch your uncle’s food!”

“Of course,” Kíli answered with a huge grin at her. “This way, Uncle.”

Thorin followed his nephew to the rousing party.  
~~  
Belle took a moment to collect her thoughts. She had never been so mortified in her life then the moment when she’d watched Thorin Oakenshield sprawled at her feet! Her hospitality was known far and wide, and it was embarrassing to have a guest literally fall into her home. After a few more deep breaths she picked up the tray that held Thorin’s repast and scurried back to the dining room. 

The party was still making merry, the others finishing up dessert as she set dinner in front of Thorin. He nodded to her and quickly began to dig into his food. She poured him another mug of ale, and moved back to her seat at the other end of the table. Earlier when she’d tried to take a seat by the fire to make room for the dwarves they’d all rebelled against the idea. Nori and Dori took up seats by the fire, insisting that their hostess should have a seat at the table. They had also made sure that she would have plenty of food. It seemed to be a point of honor among them to try to serve her every time they served themselves.  
She dug back into her food, making absolutely sure not to look up at Thorin. It did not help that he was as attractive as his nephews. The first thing that she had noticed had been his blue eyes. They were as pretty as the summer sky even when they were glaring straight at her. His handsome face was framed by wavy black hair that was thick and lustrous. Compared to hobbit lads he and his nephews should have looked uncouth and wild, but Belle found that it didn’t matter to her. She _liked_ wild. 

Speaking of Thorin’s nephews, she did finally glance up to meet Kíli’s soft brown eyes. He had little in the way of a beard, his more close cropped than any of the others’, but he was just as handsome to Belle’s eyes. She gave him a close lipped smile, and then her eyes were drawn to the other end of the table. Thankfully, the leader of the company wasn’t looking to her. “So, this is our burglar?” he said to Gandalf. 

The Big Man nodded. “I know that she may not seem much to you, but hobbits are masters at moving unseen through the world. Furthermore, the dragon won’t know her scent where he would know yours before you stepped one foot into the treasure hall.”

At that Belle’s head snapped up. “What is this about a dragon?”

The others fell silent as they looked to the hobbit lass with a spoon still halfway to her mouth. “I take it it’s time to tell you the full story, lass,” Balin said solemnly. 

She nodded. “Some truth would be nice.” 

Balin sighed. “Let us start at the beginning . . .”

Belle listened raptly as Balin spun the story of Smaug and the Desolation. She felt her heart squeeze when he described how Thorin and his company had lost their home. Belle was a relatively sweet-tempered hobbit, and just imagining what it would be like to be homeless was horrifying. Belle also kept to herself her half-horrified squeak at finding out that Thorin was a king - one she’d sent falling to the ground. As Balin finished his story, she stood to begin collecting plates. “That’s horrible.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Bofur beginning to toss silverware to his brother. He was also stabbing knives into the table in front of his brother. “Oh, no, you’ll blunt them!”

Bofur and the others had a gleam in their eyes as they began tossing plates to one another, singing all the while.

_Blunt the knives and bend the forks,_  
Smash the bottles and burn the corks,  
Chip the glasses and crack the plates!  
That’s what Miss Belle Baggins hates! 

Belle followed the first flurry down the hall to the kitchen, and almost burst into tears when she thought that some of her grandmother’s antique plates would be ruined. However, it took but a moment to realize that despite the horrible things they were saying in the song, they were washing up the dishes and stacking them neatly. A relieved laugh bubbled up, and she found herself clapping along to the song. Down the hall, Thorin watched her with a small smile on his face. Gandalf watched him with a thoughtful look. 

_Cut the cloth and trail the fat!_  
Leave the bones on the bathroom mat!  
Pour the milk on the pantry floor!  
Splash the wine on every door! 

_Dump the crocks in a boiling bowl;_  
Pound them up with a thumping pole;  
And when you’re finished if they are whole;  
Send them down the hall to roll! 

_That’s what Miss Belle Baggins hates!_

When it was finished and everyone had assembled back into her den, she smiled brightly at the dwarves. “That was brilliant, if terrifying at first.”

Most of the company found that smile charming, and they set about pulling out instruments from their packs. “Dwarves enjoy after dinner music,” Balin murmured to her.

“I know. Kíli mentioned it,” she answered. “He also begged me to sing with you.”

“Uncle, did you bring your harp?” Fíli asked.

“No,” Thorin said with a shake of his head. “We need to move quickly on this quest. Lugging instruments about is unwise.”

His gentle words caused the others to look slightly disappointed. Belle bit her lip before saying, “You can leave your instruments here when you leave.”

The others perked up at that, but Fíli still looked a bit sad. “Too bad we don’t have a harp,” he murmured. He looked up at Belle. “My uncle plays beautifully.”

Gandalf sat in the corner and smiled at Belle. She cocked her head, realizing that the wizard knew something she didn’t. “My dear Belle, did your mother not play?”

“She did,” Belle answered slowly, finally knowing where the wizard was going, “I can try to find it for you.”

Thorin looked at her with surprise. “A hobbit harp may not be of much use to me,” he said gently. 

“Oh! It wasn’t made by hobbits! Mother got it on her first adventure!” Belle called as she made her way out of the den and headed for the deep recesses of the smial. The storeroom was dark and filled to the brim with random knickknacks. There she shifted through several years’ worth of things before finding the object she was looking for. After an annual cleaning the object had gotten moved back and around even though she’d used it not too long ago. She hurried back to the den, and relished the looks of surprise when she brandished a simple hardwood harp that her mother had claimed was made by the dwarves of the Iron Hills. “It hasn’t been played in a few months, but I have made sure to care for it as my mother taught me.”

Thorin strode forward, and Belle was uncomfortably aware that he was regarding her with curiosity. Finally those blue eyes swung to the harp and began to pluck at strings and eye the pegs. “This is a well-made instrument, and it has been well cared for.”

She smiled. “Thank you.”

He took it back to his seat and began to strum a light melody. Bofur raised a flute to his lips, and after a moment, Fíli began to sing. The others joined in, and Belle and Gandalf were treated to a dwarven song of past valor. After it was done, the dwarves looked to Belle, especially young Kíli. “Belle, would you sing for us?”

“Oh!” she cried jumping up, “Of course!” She walked over to Thorin and gestured for the harp. 

“You play?” he asked.

“Yes, Mother taught me not long before she passed.” The dwarven king-in-exile – and how Belle still marveled at the fact that she was playing host to a king – let her have the instrument. She seated herself again, and tuned the instrument to the needed key. She plucked her starting note, and then launched into the ballad. 

_‘Tis the last rose of summer, left blooming alone_  
All her lovely companions are faded and gone,  
No flower of her kindred, no rosebud is nigh,  
To reflect back her blushes or match sigh for sigh. 

During her performance she didn’t let her eyes rest too long on one person, knowing that if she thought too much about any one of them she would lose her concentration. As it was, she was having a bit of trouble remembering the chords for the song since she hadn’t played and sung it in quite a while. It was a song that was not usually sung by hobbits because of its sad tone, but it had been a particular favorite of Belladonna and her daughter Belle loved it still. 

_I’ll not leave thee, thou lone one!_  
To pine on the stem  
Since the lovely are sleeping, go sleep thou with them.  
Thus kindly I scatter thy leaves o’er the bed,  
Where thy mates of the garden lie scentless and dead. 

_Soon may I follow, when friendships decay_  
And from Love’s shining circle, the gems drop away,  
When the true hearts lie withered, And fond ones are flown,  
Oh! Who would inhabit this bleak world alone?  
Oh, who would inhabit this bleak world alone. 

The last chord died before she truly looked up and realized that all of the dwarves were affected by the song. Balin, Bifur, Gloin, and Dori looked on the verge of tears while Dwalin, Bombur, Oin, and Nori looked distinctly misty-eyed. Bofur, Ori, Fíli, and Kíli looked like they were saddened by the song but not as deeply as their elders. Gandalf was staring at the wall with a far off gaze. Thorin was examining her with a thoughtful expression. He nodded his head, “A wonderful performance Mistress Baggins. Thank you.”

She nodded and smiled a bit when the others began heaping praise as well. Thorin glanced over at Balin and nodded. Balin blinked a bit but then walked over to his pack. He pulled out a piece of folded parchment. “Now, I hate to cut the festivities short, but we have some business to attend to. This is your contract –“

“Wait, we are going to allow her to come along?!” Dwalin growled angrily. 

“But, but, but!” Bofur sputtered. “She’s a woman!”

Ah, but a devil took up residence in Belle’s throat. “Oh, I am?” She patted her chest with a fake look of awe. “I am! I am a woman!”

The elder dwarves looked displeased with her joke. The younger ones gaped at a lass openly groping herself. Gandalf merely grinned. Hobbits could be as conservative as any race, but in general the earthy creatures were not bothered by references to body parts and acts that most other races found risqué a best. “I will say it again, she is perfect for your Company. Miss Belle Baggins is the burglar you need!”

Some of the Company still looked like they wanted to argue. “Balin, show her the contract,” Thorin commanded. 

The elder dwarf came over and held out the contract. “Read this please.”

Belle nodded, still not sure that she would go along on this crazy quest. Her mother had always said that she needed to let the Took blood out every so often if just to stave off becoming anything like their Sackville-Baggins cousins –

“ _Funeral expenses?!_ ”

“Well, we can’t guarantee you’ll survive,” Balin said sheepishly while cocking his head.

Belle felt her jaw somewhere in the vicinity of her ankles. Bofur didn’t help by starting to list all the ways that a dragon could kill someone, completely oblivious to both Belle’s distress and the rest of the Company shushing him. Listening to him describing all the ways that Smaug could kill her made Belle’s head begin to spin. Then after the mention of evisceration, the world went black. 

~~  
Belle climbed back to consciousness while listening to the arguing dwarves around her. “Bofur, you dolt! What did you have to do that for?”

“Aw, if the lassie can’t take me describing it, how is she going to do on the road?”

“Bofur’s right. The lass is sweet and all, but we can’t bring her along if she’s going to be a weakness!”

Her eyes fluttered open to find thirteen faces huddled around her, and Belle had to check a shriek. Suddenly, another face appeared above them, but instead of concern his showed mild annoyance. “Give the lady room!” Gandalf all but snapped. 

All of them stepped back, and Belle felt someone picking her up. Her head whipped to stare into blue eyes. Thorin was hoisting her up, but before she could say anything he deposited her on a chaise lounge in the corner. She nodded her thanks to him, unsure if she could voice anything just yet. Gandalf knelt by her side and offered her a cup of water. She took it thankfully. 

Thorin stepped away, and the others watched curiously until he gestured for them to return to their seats. Belle took a few moments just to breathe deeply, calming her racing heart – though she couldn’t tell if it was racing because of terror or finding herself in Thorin’s arms. While she calmed herself, the dwarves began to hum. She looked up to find Thorin staring into the fire as he began to sing. 

_Far over the Misty Mountains cold,_  
Through dungeons deep and caverns old,  
We must away ere break of day,  
To find our long-forgotten gold. 

As the others joined in the words, Belle found herself completely entranced. Thorin’s voice was beautiful, deep and rich, and when he joined in Bofur’s voice blended smoothly into the king’s. Something wet trailed down her cheek as she listened to the desolation implied in the song. 

_The pines were roaring on the height_  
The wind was moaning in the night  
The fire was red, it flaming spread  
The trees like torches blazed with light. 

Thorin looked up at the last lyric, his gaze meeting hers. Belle realized that she was crying, the longing of the song striking a chord within her own heart. Again, she imagined a world where she had no home, no place to belong. Even though she was considered strange by her fellows, she belonged here in the Shire. She belonged here in Bag End with her books, and chair, and antiques. This was her home, a home that she prized above most everything else. To not have this place, to not have the friends and neighbors that were so dear to her . . . Belle could not imagine how empty her life would be. She wiped her eyes, and nodded to herself. “Bring me a quill.”

Balin whipped out a quill with a huge smile. “So, lass, you’ll be joining our Company then?”

~~  
_The hall was built of dark stone, black granite that had a faint luminescence from specks of crystal caught in the matrix of rock. He recognized it as the treasure hall of the Kingdom of Erebor. He had only visited it once, many years ago before Elves and Dwarves found themselves at odds more often than not. It was a grand room, but there was not an ounce of gold to be seen._

_Instead, five figures stood in the very middle of the room, four women and one young man. The young man was a hobbit as best he could guess even though he seemed to be too tall, the four women included a hobbit, a human, an elf, and a creature that he had never seen before. The two hobbits had the look of one another about them, both pale skinned with dark hair and laughing eyes. The elf was slightly familiar to him with her red hair and vibrant eyes. The human was petite, blonde, and young, probably only a teenager in the way of humans. The last creature was formed not unlike an elf maiden, but she was ethereally pale with opalescent hair and skin covered in luminous scales._

_The three of the four women were outfitted grandly in ornately made dresses. Knowing the dwarf penchant for metals, he was sure that their dresses were woven of true cloth of gold, silver, and copper. Jewels that complemented their beauty hung from neck, ear, and wrist, but it was the tiny hobbitess that was the most finely dressed. The human maiden was the next, and the elf was the least, even though that “least” was more richly appointed than most of the queens of any of the kingdoms in existence. The fourth was dressed in simple yet well-made robes that were as white as her hair. She wore simple jewels as well, delicate gold and diamonds._

_The hobbit lad was not richly kitted either, but his clothes were fine and spoke of wealth. He had a face that was not as round as most hobbit faces, but it was sharp as if carved from soft stone. The boy held up something that he had thought long buried. A simple circle of gold winked in the light._

_“Tell me,” an ethereally beautiful voice said in his ear, “Do you yearn to see Sauron destroyed once and for all?”_

_“Yes,” he answered without hesitation._

_“Then Firstborn of Eru, ensure that this vision comes to pass. Place on Erebor’s throne princesses of elven and human blood and a queen of noble hobbit lineage. It will be one of her blood guarded by something that once was Melkor’s own that destroys the One Ring.”_

_He nodded in this dream-vision. “But how am I to do these great things, my lady?”_

_A twinkling laugh like the song of the stars met his ears, but the voice was a different one than the voice that first spoke. “Honestly, you will do little but ensure that they stay together. Three sons of Durin’s line wander the world looking for their home, three hearts ready to find their beloved one. One shall fall for a hobbit’s quick mind, one for a human’s gentle manner, and one for an elf’s lovely heart. Keep those who value all the wrong things from tearing them apart and their love shall unite a world that is marching into darkness.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some scenes were modified from the book. 
> 
> Comments are welcome! Thank you for reading.


	2. Valinor

The Valar sat unmoving as twilight filtered over them with soft fingers. At the head of the open ring sat the two largest thrones, one that swirled with blues and purples like wind caught in glass, and the other was a sparkling stone concoction that looked like a starry sky. To the left was a throne of deep blues and greens that stood alone. To the right was another pair of thrones with one that seemed to be hewn of the finest stone beside a lovely one that looked to be a small tree that somehow decided to grow in the shape of a chair. Next to the lonely throne was a pair of thrones made of shimmering material like moonstone. Next to those was another pair of thrones, but these were smoky grey. A lone throne sat next to those two, shrouded in violet, grey, and black. On the other side stood two other pairs of thrones. Another two thrones of finest wood, but this time worked wood, and finally two decked out in brightly colored cloth completed the regal set. 

Each throne was occupied, save for one of the shimmering moonstones. The other thirteen shared looks, and wondered where their wayward companion could be. Especially since they had been called here on his word. “Manwë,” asked the lady on the starlight throne, “Where is Irmo? He is not one to be late.”

“I am not sure,” he answered. He scanned the assembled Valar, and gave them a small smile. I have faith. He will be here soon.”

As if his words magically summoned his prodigal brother – which honestly wasn’t out of the realm of possibilities – the Vala in question strode into the middle of the ring. He bowed, and the others were amused to see him holding a red rose. “Irmo,” Manwë boomed, “What is it that you bring before us?”

Irmo nodded, his long hair brushing over his shoulders as he moved. “I know how we can rout Sauron.”

A bark of laughter came from one of the thrones of bright colors. Irmo turned to glance at his brother Tulkas. “What is your grievance?”

The wrestler simply shook his head. “Come now, Irmo, you should better than to ask that question!” The joviality left Tulkas’s face. “It is not our place to face him. Why should we know?”

“No,” Yavanna called out from the tree throne, “You are wrong Tulkas. It is our place.” The Valia swung her feet since the throne had been fashioned from a time when she had garbed herself with the body of an elf. Lately, she preferred the shape of a hobbit. “Sauron is one of the Enemy, the Enemy of all of us. If Irmo says there is a way, I want to hear it.”  
There were nods from others in the room. Manwë held up a hand to silence the others. “Irmo, what have you seen?”

Irmo nodded to his king and brandished the red rose. “I walked my garden this morning, and was pulled into a vision.” He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and swept out his hands. As he did, the Ring of Doom no longer looked as it did. From each Vala’s stand point it looked like the others had disappeared under the new place that Irmo had conjured. It was a mountain hall, and Aulë cried out, “Erebor.”

“Yes,” Irmo replied, his voice seemingly disembodied to the others, “Erebor.” The vision moved, and the Valar recognized the throne room that they had spied on many a time. “The throne room.”

But it was not the ornate carven throne that was the cynosure of all eyes. In the floor below the throne of dark stone, a rose bush grew with blooms of the deepest crimson. The leaves were a lustrous green that almost seemed to glow in the soft gloom of the mountain hall. “A rose blooming in Erebor?” Tulkas scoffed. “That is how we defeat Sauron?”

“Hold your tongue!” Manwë barked. “Irmo is not done.”

“No, my vision is not done.”

The vision moved, the throne receding as if the Valar were walking backwards away from it. The mountain hall slowly fell into disarray around them, scarred and pitted as if a great battle had taken place there. A faint light from lit forges filtered through, and they found themselves in the gateway hall, looking back from whence they came. The lit forges and torches created a blinding light coming from the great receiving hall, but out of the brightness stepped a couple. 

It was a daughter of Man and a young dwarf. The girl had a bow slung over her shoulder, and the dwarf held her hand as if they were young sweethearts out for a stroll. The girl was dressed in mismatched clothes that looked to have been culled from several different sources. The dwarf at least looked as if all of his clothes were his own. The dwarf wore a small crown of black material. Though it was heavily stylized, each Vala recognized the raven motif. The girl wore a crown of shining white scales, and the knowledge struck each of them as it had Irmo that they _were dragon scales_. “A dragon maid and a raven prince,” Irmo intoned. 

Another couple emerged from the light, this one even more incongruous than the first. An elf maid and another young dwarf stepped out of the light. They stopped as if they saw the Valar in front of them, and each held out their hands. Cupped in the elf maid’s hand was a dwarvish runestone, a black stone with gold paint highlighting the words. The dwarf held a shining star in his hands, bright and white in the darkness. “A daughter of stars and a son of stone.”

The moved past, and yet another person stepped from the light. The Valar collectively gasped as they recognized a face that they had thought long lost to them. A maiden of great beauty walked towards them, dressed in nothing more than a black robe. It was of dwarven make so it fell only to about mid-calf on her. She was barefoot, but it didn’t seem to bother her. She merely looked to them, and then smiled. “A Maiar long lost, now found again.”

She moved away to let them see the last pair coming out of the light. Yavanna and Aulë let out happy gasps, realizing that they were almost looking into a mirror. A hobbit lady and a dwarf lord stepped from the light. The lord was dressed in simple leathers and the lady in a patched, and faded dress. The lord was crowned not by gold or silver, but by roses of the deepest crimson. The edges of the bottom petals almost appeared black. The lady had raven feathers braided into her hair, and gauntlets of gold and silver encased her hands. “A raven and a rose.”

The vision turned so that the three couples and the Maiar were standing on the wall of the city. They faced a dark storm, their faces hard. Other beings began to surround them, those the Valar recognized on sight and those they didn’t but knew were children of Man, Dwarf, and Elf. Then, the hobbit lass drew her little “sword,” her gauntlets flashing. The rest of the host drew their weapons, from the great Thranduil Elfking to the Man known as Strider to the strange hobbit lad that came to stand between the Raven and the Rose that looked like an almost perfect blend of them both. 

“Bring them together,” Irmo said, “The maid and the prince, the star and the stone, the lost Maiar, and the raven and the rose. Bring them together, and unite the races for the first time since the War of the Rings. Bring them together, and Sauron shall fall.”


	3. Spooking the Took

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to say a big thank you again for all the lovely comments that were left on the first two chapters of this. In my nearly ten years of writing fan fic, this was the first time I have had such a quick, positive, and huge response to one of my pieces. Thank you so much!

The next morning Thorin woke to the smell of frying bacon. He sat up gingerly, stretching protesting back muscles that were unhappy with his former resting place. The hobbitess had ensured that he received her best guest room even though he had refused to take hers, but all the same hobbit beds were built for people much shorter than Thorin’s own. He took a few more moments to stretch and pop his spine back into position before opening the door. 

He heard grumbling from the main room where the bulk of the Company had slept, but his nose made him move towards the kitchen. Inside he found the hobbit lass working diligently at the stove, frying up what seemed to be her entire store of bacon. She was singing a song to herself, a jaunty tune that Thorin had never heard before. She finally looked up and smiled at him. “Good morning Thorin! I hope you rested well!”

He gave her a polite smile, unwilling to alienate his supposed burglar by admitting to her that his night had been less than ideal. He went to sit at the table, but she flapped her hands at him. “I had Kili and Fíli set up the table outside in the rose garden! I would like to enjoy my roses one last time before we leave, so we will breakfast there!”

The King Under the Mountain merely blinked at the hobbit. “You realize that we will be spending quite a lot of time outside in the next few months.”

She nodded while pulling some of the bacon out of the pan to lay it down to cool. “Yes, but we won’t be trekking through my prized roses!”

The dwarf merely shook his head at the folly of hobbits, and followed her directions out to the rose garden. He heard Fíli and Kili arguing from over the garden wall he came to. Thorin was not used to such things, but he’d seen them in some of the human settlements he’d been through. He found the gate and stepped inside to see his nephews engaged in one of their usual fights. However, the subject of said fight made him smile. 

“We seat the lady at the head of the table,” Kili snapped. “She’s our hostess!”

“No, we seat our uncle at the head since he’s the king! She goes at his right!”

“You’re an idiot Fíli!”

“No, you’re the idiot Kili!”

“Boys!” Thorin finally thundered. Both turned to their uncle, cringing almost imperceptibly. “Seat the lady at the head of her table.”

Kili threw a triumphant look at his brother. They finished setting the table while Thorin strolled around the garden, examining the different plants. Like most dwarves he had no real interest in plants or farming, but he was curious as to what the hobbit found so valuable. He admitted that the flowers were colorful and pretty in their own way, perhaps in the same way that he found gems and stones pretty. Each different bush had a small sign pushed into the ground beneath the bush, and he found himself reading them. “Black Magic,” he read aloud, examining the deep crimson blossoms whose bottom petals tended towards a red so deep as to almost be black. “Also known as Belladonna’s Rose.”

“I’m named after those,” a female voice said over his shoulder. He looked up to see the hobbit lass walking into the garden followed by a veritable cavalcade of dwarves each toting a tray of food. “My father cultivated those for my mother, and named them Black Magic. My mother was named after the plant called Belladonna, but she put her foot down when my father wanted to name me Belladonna too. So they compromised by naming me after the nickname given to that cultivar – Belladonna Rose.”

“How was that a compromise?” Dwalin asked. “Sounds like your father got his way.”

She smiled, and laughed a bit. “My father got to have his Lady Bella and Little Belle, but my mother got her Rose.”

“Ah,” Balin said with a laugh, “So both of them got what they wanted. I think it’s a very bonny name lass.”

She gestured for them to sit. The dwarves followed her silent instruction. She took her own seat, and began passing around the dishes. “My mother loved roses. I know each and every one of these plants by heart.”

Fíli grinned around his eggs. “Then, what are those ones there? With the orange and yellow?”

“Good eye! Those are Oranges’n’Lemons! They can mean joy and passion,” the hobbit answered. 

Dwalin pointed to a bush of white roses. “Those, what are they?”

“Those are Took Lace. They mean purity or innocence. When given with red roses they can mean pure love.”

“And those purple ones there? With the reddish edges?” Kili asked. “They’re very pretty.”

She laughed, and Thorin noted as he chewed his bacon that it was a pleasant enough laugh. The dwarves as a whole seemed to like her, so even though he still had his doubts that she would be useful as a burglar he couldn’t deny that she would do wonders for morale. 

“Appropriately enough those are called Rock Fire,” she finally answered. “They can mean fascination tinged with love at first sight.”

Soon, all the other dwarves had asked about the roses they particularly liked, even Bifur who ended up asking Bombur to communicate his request. Tharkûn abstained from asking, but Thorin knew that he probably already knew about each and every rose in that garden. While Thorin knew that his Company probably thought most of this was nothing more than hobbit frippery, he was also just as curious as they. However, he found that the roses he liked best were the Black Magic and two others. “Mistress Baggins, what of your namesake? And those two beside it? What are they?”

She turned to follow where he pointed out three bushes arranged near each other. “Well, Black Magic’s meaning depends on who you ask. Some consider it a black rose – so its meaning is remorse or mourning. Some consider it a deep red rose so that it means deep, immortal love. The one right beside is my personal favorite. It’s called Korsir. White and red bicolors mean unity. The last is Moon Shadow. Purple roses of that shade can mean regal majesty.”

“I see,” he murmured. The rest of the meal was spent in genteel conversation – at least as genteel as dwarves ever got. 

~~  
Belle was trying her best not to be appalled by the conversation raging around her. Apparently discussing the worse battle wounds one had received was completely appropriate breakfast conversation. As she had also never in her life participated in a battle, she had nothing to add. However, she was saved from it by the timely arrival of her neighbor. ‘Urh, good morning Miss Baggins.”

She turned to the open gate and smiled brightly at the middle-aged hobbit man who stood there looking a bit lost. He had a sweet round face and brown ringlets cropped relatively close to his head. Mr. Hamfast Gamgee was an old friend of the family that often helped Belle take care of her garden. “Mr. Gamgee! I’m glad you came! I need to speak to you for a few moments,” she said, and then turned to the Company. “Please, finish your breakfast. I’ll be back momentarily.”

The dwarves nodded, and Balin made sure to say, “Hurry back lass. We wish to leave before noon.”

“Of course!” she called over her shoulder as she ushered Mr. Gamgee out and then into her smial. “Mr. Gamgee, here is a letter I’d like you to send to my uncle the Thain. Could you also look after my roses?”

“Why sure I can Miss Belle! It’d be a pleasure, but where are you off to?” he said in his deep voice – or at least, a voice that Belle used to consider deep. Now, his voice didn’t seem like a rumble of thunder as she’d once thought when she was a child. His voice was still low for a hobbit, but after meeting the dwarves she had a new basis of comparison. 

“I’m off on an adventure Miss Gamgee!” she replied brightly. 

The Gamgees were one of the few families that apparently didn’t find the Tookish penchant for adventure so strange. Most of the rest of the Shire had already labeled her strange, and she knew that after this she would forever be one of the Mad Tooks, but Belle found that she didn’t mind. When she came back she’d still have her family – well, the Tooks and a few of the Baggins clan really as the majority of the Bagginses had still not gotten over her father’s marriage to Belladonna Took who had the nerve to take him on an adventure with her – as well as the Gamgees and some of the Brandybucks. In fact, her Took family would be ecstatic over her finally joining their eccentric ranks, and the Gamgees loved stories. 

With a nod, Hamfast smiled. “Ah! Then you must tell me the story of it when you return!”

“Of a certainty!” she replied as they walked back out to the garden. When they got to the garden gate, she gave him a hug. “Thank you Mr. Gamgee.”

“Safe travels Miss Belle!” he said with a squeeze. “Do the Tooks proud!”

“I will,” she said as she turned to go back to her breakfast. She sat down and began to tuck into her eggs until she realized that she could feel the weight of several stares. With a glance up she found herself the cynosure of every eye at the table – thirteen dwarves with slightly disapproving stares and one very amused wizard. “Is something the matter?”

It was Bofur who spoke up. “Who was that lad for you to go off with alone and be hugging?”

Belle cocked a brow. “And who are any of you to worry about what I do with other hobbits?”

Bofur opened his mouth to reply, but Balin leaped in before he could. “We are your Company lass. You signed a contract to travel with us, and within that contract is a promise to protect you the best we can. Now, if you were a dwarven lass that wouldn’t be a problem since your sword arm would be the equal of ours, but a gentle hobbit lass like yourself needs some extra care. Forgive us if we’ve over stepped our bounds in your mind, but our protection extends to ensuring that no one takes advantage of you.”

“Advantage of me . . .” she murmured before bursting into laughter. “You mean, you thought that Mr. Gamgee would try to, what, force me? Court me for my riches?” She snorted with laughter. “Mr. Gamgee is an old family friend who is married with his own child. He is also one of the few hobbits that doesn’t find my Tookish blood off-putting. I value his friendship as one of my prized possessions. I am safe with him. As to the protection of my virtue in general, please remember that I am thirty-eight years old, and that is still young by hobbit standards but I am well into my adulthood. My mother trained me in how to curb unwanted advances.”

“Yes,” Thorin pointed out, “But what happens when it isn’t one of your gentle hobbits? What happens if an unscrupulous Man or craven dwarf is the one coming after you?”

Belle knew that he had a point, but she had another to make. “Well, in that case, yes, I would need some help because you dwarves are bigger and stronger than I, and Men just so. However, I have been informed by my female Took family that Man, dwarf, Elf, or hobbit, lads all have the same equipment and what I was taught will work on all of them.” She smiled at her new companions and stood, taking her dishes and turning back inside. 

Behind her she heard the sounds of a scuffle, and she would have been first to laugh at the ludicrous picture of thirteen dwarves following her like oversized ducklings. In fact, back in his garden seat, Gandalf was doing just that. 

~~  
Belle stared at the pony with a look of absolute horror. For the most part, hobbits had no need for ponies since they often didn’t go very far from home. The few that they had were generally used for hauling supplies. Suffice to say, Belle’s riding skills were nonexistent. “Oh no,” she murmured, “I simply couldn’t –“ She shrieked as she felt someone pick her up and deposit her on the pony. She glanced down and saw Kili and Fíli smiling at her. 

“Do not worry Belle!” Kili said brightly.

“Myrtle here is the gentlest of the ponies. She won’t throw you,” Fíli agreed with a huge smile. 

“Thank you,” she replied in a strangled voice. “I am honored.” The two young sons of Durin were all but howling with laughter as they mounted their own steeds. They were soon shushed by Dwalin who had apparently had enough of their shenanigans. 

The group had met back up from various errands in front of the Green Dragon, and Belle had found herself again being stared at most rudely, this time by her fellow hobbits. As they began moving, several faunts ran up and wished her luck, and she smiled when little Herodontius Took ran up and yelled, “Bye Belladonna Rose! Mama and Papa say that they will want all the details when you return!”

“Of course!” she replied. “You make sure you wash behind your ears!”

He laughed, her little cousin twice removed, and the faunts veered off with looks of horror. She followed their line of sight and groaned. There standing in the middle of the path looking like she’d just eaten a sour apple was Lobelia Sackville-Baggins. “Oh, joy,” Belle muttered. “It’s going to be like this then.”

The party was riding out with Thorin in the lead, Dwalin and Balin directly behind, and the brothers Ri behind them. Fíli and Kili rode next with Bofur and Bifur following them. Then came Belle who was followed by Bombur, Óin and Glóin. Gandalf had yet to mount his horse as he was still talking with several hobbits. The leading members of the party passed Lobelia with only mild looks of annoyance, but as Bifur and Bofur passed, the hobbit woman took a deep breath. “ _Belladonna Rose Baggins what are you doing_?!”

The leading edge of the party stopped, and Myrtle was trained well enough that she stopped at seeing her fellow ponies halt. “Well, it looks like I am desperately trying not to fall off of a pony, Lobelia.”

~~  
Thorin glanced back at the hobbit lass, wondering exactly who this other hobbitess was and why she dared to stop the Company. Belle looked like she was anticipating an unpleasant encounter. He contemplated cutting this whole debacle off at the bud, but decided that he should let this play out as it would. 

Lobelia’s face screwed up with rage. “You know what I mean! Look at you! Bad enough that your Took blood makes you go haring off to Yavanna knows where, _but to do so with dwarves_?! Have you no care for your reputation? Your marriage chances? Or are you planning on – on –” she cried with flailing hands, “ _On having a wild love affair with one of these uncouth brutes_!”

Belle rolled her eyes and Thorin almost smiled. “Lobelia, I have been an adult for over six years. If I choose to go haring off with dwarves, as you call it, I will go off with the dwarves. If I decide to throw all my inhibitions to the wind and have a wild love affair with a dwarf, it is none of your business because my reputation is my own! And if I choose to marry a blasted dwarf, I will marry that blasted dwarf!” She pointed at the interfering hobbit. “ _And you’re just jealous that you don’t get to go wandering off with fourteen fine lads_!”

There was a collective gasp of glee from the watching hobbits, and looks of confusion amongst the dwarves. 

Kili counted the members of the party and said softly to his brother, “There are only thirteen of us.”

“I think she’s counting Tharkûn too.”

“Oh.”

Lobelia’s face took on a distinctively red cast. “I am not jealous!” she cried, but then a huge smile wreathed her face. She gestured towards Kili. “But I would not mind if you brought back that one. He has a rather fine arse.”

The dwarves all looked to each other with expressions of mirth mixed in with horror. Kili was the one with the worst of it. His face was fiery red as he gaped at the hobbit woman who gave him a smile and a wink. For her part, Belle took it in stride. “I’m more partial to his uncle, but I will see what I can do Lobelia.”

Thorin did a double take as he glared at the hobbit lass that was part of his Company. She saw him and gave him a smile and a conspiratorial wink. Lobelia saw the interaction. “Ah, so that’s his uncle? I can see why you prefer him.” Lobelia nodded to him. “My apologies if my play with my cousin has disconcerted you sir. I do not approve of her leaving, but good luck to you on your venture, Master . . .?”

“I am Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror.” He glanced around, but apparently none of the hobbits had heard of him. They didn’t seem at all impressed by a lineage that many of the other races would almost certainly recognize on sight, as it were. In fact, their easy open expressions told him that if he’d been the lowliest swine herd they would still look at him with delight and wish him well on his journey. Tharkûn had told him that hobbits valued the simple things in life, and surrounded by the gentle people Thorin could see that if anything, the wizard had understated just how sweet these creatures were. 

“Well then, Master Thorin, again I wish you good journey, and please, watch over my dear cousin,” Lobelia said before looking over at Belle. “Don’t give him as much trouble as you give us, Belladonna Rose Baggins. Safe journey, oh Tookish One.”

“I will look after your cousin Mistress,” Thorin replied. He gave her a small smile, and the shadow of his devilish younger self popped up. He turned back towards the road and kicked his pony back into a slow walk. “And I will also see about sending Kili back so that you may admire him further.”

He could hear a strangled squawk from behind amid the roars of dwarven laughter. “Oh, please do!” Lobelia called as she moved from the road. The rest of the party followed Thorin out of the town. The entire way they were trailed by hobbits wishing them, Belle, and Tharkûn safe travels. Thorin felt a small hand on his leg, and looking down he found a hobbit child holding out a flower to him. “Safe journey Master Thorin!” the little one said. 

He took the flower, smiling at how the little one trotted to keep up with the pony. “My thanks, young one.”

The child laughed and ran back to the woman that must be his mother. She smiled and came forward. “Here, take some bread! A friend of Belle Baggins is a friend of ours!”

Thorin nodded and took the gift with heart feel thanks. On their way out of the small town, the Company found themselves showered with food, flowers, and wishes of luck. The hobbits seemed most put out that the wizard was leaving without staying to have some fun or fireworks. The dwarf king realized that Tharkûn was well liked by these little people. He also heard a few things that puzzled him. 

“Ah, another Took out for adventure.”

“And the tradition of Spooking the Took continues once again.”

The Company finally came out of Hobbiton, and trailed through the woods. Their well-wishers had stopped on the outskirts of the town, and as soon as they were out of their earshot, Thorin turned to look at the hobbit lass. In fact, the entire Company was staring at her, with the exception of Gandalf who rode beside her without comment. “So, Mistress Burglar, what exactly is ‘Spooking the Took’?”

She laughed. “That whole song and dance you just witnessed between Lobelia and I. It is a tradition that when a Took leaves on an adventure they are to be lightly hazed by someone close to them to try to keep them from leaving. It’s an old tradition, and one that no Took has ever listened to, but it’s something the other hobbits look forward to. It also gives them a chance to wish the Took well and give him or her leaving gifts. Tooks are considered the height of strange, but my mother’s family have been an integral part of the Shire from the beginning. In fact, the Thain has always been a Took.”

“And what is a Thain?” Glóin asked.

“Well, kind of a war leader. We don’t have anything like a King, but sometimes we have needed someone to organize a defense of our people. Hobbits do not like to fight at all, but sometimes it is inevitable. In peacetime the Thain acts mostly as a spokesperson for the Shire and an arbiter of disputes,” she answered. 

“So, you’re related to the Thain?” Balin asked. “You did say that your mother was a Took.”

“Why yes I am,” she replied, “The current Thain is my uncle. My mother was his younger sister.”

Several pairs of eyes went to Kili and Fíli. Thorin nodded his head, knowing that they were thinking the same thing he was. Tharkûn had chosen what his people would consider as a close relation to a king or chieftain, if not a princess herself. This little hobbit was more than they first thought. There was quiet for a moment as the dwarves absorbed the new information they’d learned. 

“Your people are generous! I think we have enough bread now to last beyond Bree!” Bombur finally said. 

Kili still looked a bit mortified, and he had the most flowers clutched in one hand. “But why flowers?”

The burglar’s smile grew brighter. “Flowers are a sign of regard among hobbits. It means that one of my people likes you.”

Collectively the Company began to compare their flower haul, as well as asking after which flowers meant what. In the end it was decided that Kili had not only caught Lobelia’s eye, but several others as well since he had the most flowers given to him. “Yes, and about what she said,” the young prince asked, “Did she really, uh-“

“Like your hind end?” the hobbit asked. “Probably. Lobelia and I have often got into arguments over the various physical virtues of our suitors, so that was probably why she chose that tack.”

“Hobbits are earthy creatures,” Gandalf piped up. “Expect our burglar to be worldlier than you think.” He winked at Kili who by this time had also gotten the most winks and was beginning to get a complex about it. His brother was sure that he was muttering about it beneath his breath.

It was finally Bofur that posed the question most of the Company was aching to ask. “So, did you mean it about Thorin?” he murmured to the hobbit. 

The dwarf in question found himself curious as well. He even turned to look back at her with a raised brow. “Yes, Mistress Burglar, am I preferable to my nephew?”

This caused Dwalin and Balin to exchange looks of curiosity. Thorin was a proud creature, but not usually as proud about his romantic conquests as he was other things. They weren’t even all that sure that Thorin had done much flirting and courting in the past. He had been too focused on restoring his people to glory to pay much attention to the dwarrowdams that vied for his eye. Even an exiled king was a mighty catch indeed. 

For their parts, Fíli and Kili were just as interested. They had long heard their mother lament their pig-headed uncle’s single-minded path. Lady Dis wanted her home again, but at the same time she wanted her family to live happily, peacefully if at all possible. As the two shared a side-long glance, they gave each other a grin. This could be good. 

The hobbit lass was blushing that same color as Kili had only an hour before. She turned to Bofur and said shakily, “Well . . . That is . . . Yes?”

The dwarves burst into laughter. Her face became even redder if that was even possible, and Thorin decided to take mercy. He put on his most stern expression as he said to them, “And how is her finding me attractive cause for laughter?”

The rest of the Company instantly shut up. 

~~  
The Company plodded into Bree a day later. Belle had by this time decided that she wasn’t entirely sure about this whole venture. She hated riding, she disliked sleeping on the ground, and she was beginning to find her companions annoying. The only people who hadn’t teased her about her words during the Spooking were Gandalf and Thorin, but she was certain that the latter was not all that interested in the feelings of a hobbit lass of little standing and the former was silently enjoying the show. 

“Ah, let us go to the Prancing Pony,” Gandalf said. “The ale is good there.”

“Agreed,” Thorin said as he led them to the particular pub. Belle found herself smiling as she took in the busy little town. There were humans and hobbits comingling, but everything was built with Men in mind. To a little hobbit who had never gotten very far from home, this was a strange world indeed. The buildings were all free standing instead of built into hills, and the wooden doors were rectangular and huge. The Men were also varied, some squat and round, others tall and lanky. The women ran the gamut from well-endowed in the same way as a hobbit lass to rather flat chested. Hair of black, brown, red, and blonde walked by, and Belle found herself staring at a stall that sold pretty hair ribbons. 

Unconsciously she touched her own hair done up in a serviceable bun. She was a hobbit enough lass to love braiding ribbons into her hair, but she sighed with the knowledge that she wouldn’t have enough cause to buy any of the pretty fripperies. However, she did see a very pretty comb that could make up for not getting to buy any of the ribbons. 

As the dwarves dismounted in the courtyard of the Prancing Pony, Balin went to book several rooms for the night. It was decided that one day more in town wouldn’t do any harm. After handing over her pony, she found herself facing Dwalin. He gave her a small smile. “My brother is going to get you your own room. Dinner will be paid for as well.”

“Okay,” she replied softly. “Can I – well I was wondering, would it be alright for me to wander about a bit?”

The burly dwarf scratched at his beard. “I don’t see why not. Take someone with you though.”

“Of course,” she murmured. She glanced about and her eyes landed on Gandalf. She approached the wizard tentatively. “Gandalf, would you like to walk the market with me?”  
The wizard’s eyes crinkled as he smiled. “It would be my honor to pass an afternoon shopping with you.”

Belle’s smile was wide as the two set out to see the market. The wizard was a soothing companion for Belle’s shattered nerves, especially since he was not inclined to pester her. “Thank you so much, Gandalf,” she said. “I needed to be away from those clot-heads for a little while.”

He laughed. “I understand Belle. That bunch can be a trial on one’s nerves. Ultimately you must remember that dwarves are almost painfully blunt and only use any sort of subtlety when they feel it’s warranted.”

“Which apparently isn’t often,” she replied while looking over a stall of pots and pans. They made their way back to the stall she’d originally seen, and Belle felt a smile gracing her face for the first time in nearly a day. The saleswoman behind the counter gave her an answering smile. 

“Is there anything you see that you like?” the woman asked. “These ribbons are the finest silk! I know a hobbit lassie like you will enjoy them on party days!”  
Belle laughed. “Unfortunately, I don’t think I’ll be having too many party days in the future. I would like to look at these combs, though.”

“Of course!” The merchant pulled the tray of combs over so that the two women could look over them. Belle found herself charmed by one that had rose carvings worked into the back. It was a beautifully carved piece. “I’ll give it to you for ten coppers.”

“Hurmph,” a voice said from behind her. 

Belle started and turned to find Bifur glaring at the comb. He said something in the guttural language of the dwarves, but he didn’t seem to care that Belle couldn’t understand. Gandalf snorted, and she turned to him for explanation. “He says that he can make you a comb far better than that one for less the price.”

Belle glanced at him. “You can?” Bifur nodded vigorously. 

The merchant saw her sale rapidly going south. “Well, I can part with this one that’s already made and to your liking for eight.”

The hobbit lass looked to Bifur. “Would you still be able to do for less?”

The dwarf nodded, and said something that Gandalf translated. “For eight coppers I’d include some light gilt. Three coppers worth of gold at least for that price.”

The merchant narrowed her eyes at the dwarf. “My final offer it five coppers.”

Bifur shrugged. “I could still make one for cheaper, but I would take a week,” he said through Gandalf. 

Belle smiled at the merchant. “I’ll take it for five then.” She handed over the coins and took the comb from the slightly disgruntled saleswoman. As they walked away with Belle admiring her comb she turned to Bifur and gave him a smile. “How did you know that it was over-priced?”

Bifur smiled and looked to Gandalf. “Carving combs is something my family does to pass time. We can do it in our sleep!”

She laughed. “Thank you! And would it really take you a week?”

“No, but I could tell you liked it,” he replied. 

They completed their walk back to the Prancing Pony with Gandalf speaking for two, and Belle asking Bifur all kinds of questions about his carving. Belle decided that she quite liked Bifur. He wasn’t a sweet hobbit lad, but he had his own charms. Her annoyance with dwarf-kind lessened with every step as she found Bifur a pleasant companion, even with the axe sticking out of his head. As they entered the Pony, she was led to a table in a back corner where some of their Company had already returned from various errands. Dwalin sat with a tankard of ale and a plate of rolls, tearing into them with the same ferocity that he had at her home. Belle didn’t even think about the fact that she was rapidly getting used to the fact that dwarves didn’t think it was a meal without some food throwing, crumbs getting everywhere, and spilling their ale into their beards. 

“Lass!” Dwalin called, “Did you find yourself a treasure?”

She smiled at him and showed him the comb as she took a seat. He took the little feminine frippery and examined it with a craftsman’s eye. “Not bad. How much did you pay?”

“Five coppers thanks to Bifur.” She turned her bright smile on him. “He helped drive the price down.”

“Good. Five coppers is all this is worth. The wood is nice, but the engravings still have some rough patches,” Dwalin said as he handed back the comb. He gave her a wink. “Still not as pretty as you.”

Belle didn’t mean to startle, but she hadn’t been expecting Dwalin to really flirt with her. “Uh, thank you.”

Balin plopped down next to his brother. “Don’t mind him, he’s got a bit of ale in him and a pretty girl within arm’s reach. He’ll be incorrigible all night.”

“But,” she said with a gesture to her face, “Don’t you prefer ladies with a bit more . . . hair?”

The assembled dwarves laughed. “That we do lass, but you are still quite well made. Dwarves admire fine craftsmanship in all its forms,” Balin explained

“Oh,” she said looking to Gandalf who had sat down the table from her. He only gave her a small, reassuring smile. Then she looked down at herself. 

Belle didn’t own trousers and had had no time to shop for any, so she’d worn one of her serviceable woolen dresses that she usually only wore to work in the garden. It was a dull brown, and her chemise was simple linen. She had packed one nice dress, thinking that perhaps there might be some need, but the others were simple, rough things that would do well for traveling. She had also only packed one nice corset, and she wore the work corset that would do well enough for everyday wear. She had already decided that when she took care of her business in the morning and evening she could easily put on and take off her corset. 

“Thank you,” she finally said, “That’s possibly one of the nicest things anyone has ever said about me.”

Dwalin got a look of amused amazement. “Really lass? I would think that the hobbit lads would be breaking down your door to have a chance to court you.”

“Here, here!” Fíli said from down the table. He and his brother had just returned from their own errands. 

Belle couldn’t help the huge smile that graced her face. “You all are too kind.”

Balin and Bifur shared a look. “No kindness about it lass,” Balin replied, “When we tell the truth.” The elder dwarf wondered if the little hobbit hadn’t yet realized that she had all but been adopted by the Company. She was their sister in arms now. 

~~  
As the night wore on, Bifur found himself standing the part of Belle Baggins’s protector. Between Dwalin who had become drunk to Ori who had apparently decided to try out his nearly non-existent courting skills, there were plenty of dwarves who were vying for a lass’s attention. Now, Bifur was sure that none of them thought to lure her to their bed – tonight at least – but he wasn’t so sure about the future. She was a sweet lass, and probably didn’t realize that if given half the chance, most of the Company would gladly take her. Bifur . . . well, he didn’t want her in his bed. 

The day before yesterday he’d arrived at the burglar’s house to find a sweet-faced lass with a smile like diamonds sparkling in the light. She’d gladly hosted a rowdy bevy of dwarves, fed them, and kept her head when they apparently began to destroy her crockery. Bifur had no family, no lady wife or children to love, but he quite imagined that if he’d had a daughter she’d be somewhat like Belle. 

When he’d seen the lass wander off with the wizard he’d decided to follow them. It had given him great pleasure to help the lass drive a bargain, and her open, friendly questions on the way back had charmed him further. She’d even requested to learn the hand sign language, not realizing that iglishmêk was a secret entrusted to few outside of the dwarves. Bifur still wasn’t sure how Tharkûn knew khuzdul. 

Be that as it may, Bifur had decided that he would personally see to the lass’s safety. She needed someone to keep this bunch of lunatics off of her back. “Come now, lassie,” Dwalin said, “You can’t tell me you didn’t have the hobbit lads falling at your feet!”

“Oh no,” she said demurely, “I wouldn’t say falling at my feet.” Her eyes twinkling, she took a sip of her mead. “Although, I remember a few dwarves that did just that.”

Now, Bifur knew that he, Bombur, and Bofur had done just that, but out of the corner of his eye he caught sight of Thorin’s slight blush. While his young cousins picked up their flirting, he examined the king-in-exile. He seemed bothered by what Belle just said. Now why would that be unless he . . . 

Bifur’s sudden roar of laughter caught everyone else at the table unawares, and they all insisted on knowing what was so funny. Instead of telling them about the picture of their leader falling at the lass’s feet, he simply said he’d been slow to remember his part in rolling into Belle’s hobbit hole. They all left him well enough alone after that, so he returned to examining Thorin. While the rest of the Company sat together enjoying their evening, Thorin sat at a small table a little ways away from them. 

Bifur rose, and went over to sit with his leader. “Good evening, Thorin.”

“Bifur,” he replied with a nod. “What is it?”

“So, you also fell at the little lassie’s feet?”

Thorin choked on his ale, but fortunately the rest of the dwarves were too busy making merry to notice their illustrious leader’s distress. He gave them a look before glaring at Bifur. “Why do you ask?”

Bifur shrugged. “Curiosity. You weren’t the only one. My cousins and I fell for her as well.” 

Thorin seemed to relax. “Ah.”

The two sat in silence for a few moments before Bifur asked blithely, “She’s taken with you.” There was no response. “So am I going to have to keep you out of her bed as well?”

This time the Company couldn’t help but notice the ale being spewed across the table. “Granted,” Bifur continued nonchalantly, “You’re probably the only one of us good enough for her.”

“Thank you,” Thorin wheezed, “But I don’t think we will have to worry about all of that.”

There was no reply, but Bifur did have a soft laugh at his lord’s expense. The others were obviously curious, but after a few heckling calls from Fíli and Kili, they went back to their original fun. “The lass has requested to learn iglishmêk. May I teach her?”

The king-in-exile gave him a stern look. “Why would you teach her?”

“I think the lass can appreciate the fact we want it kept secret from other races, and in any case, from what Tharkûn has said hobbits could care less about making war,” Bifur replied. 

“Impress upon her the importance of not teaching anyone else,” Thorin replied, “And you may teach her.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The rose varieties mentioned in this chapter are all real, however some names were toyed with to fit the setting - since there is no France in Middle-Earth, I figured no one would mind me changing the name from French Lace to Took Lace. Korsir is one of the names for a variety more well known as Osiria - which is a gorgeous red-white bicolor. Belladonna Rose is not a nickname for Black Magic, but it fit the story I wanted to tell. 
> 
> I'm also playing with some of the cultural aspects of Middle-Earth. "Spooking the Took" is my invention, and here I'm going to play Lobelia up as the annoying cousin that Belle has a love-hate relationship with. 
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	4. Paths Entwine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, thank you so much for all the lovely comments! It's great that you all are enjoying this adventure of mine. :)

The girl took a deep breath of the fresh air. Sigrid loved when her father let the children come with him to fetch the barrels from Mirkwood. They were able to come to the edge of the forest, practice their archery, and enjoy air that wasn’t stained by the stenches of tar, fish, and despair. 

She glanced over at her father with a small smile. He was showing Tilda how to aim properly, and for once his face was relaxed in true happiness. Bard the Bargeman loved archery, and loved his children even more. His passion had communicated itself to them, and each of his three children were just as passionate about the craft as he was.  
The targets were old, broken barrels that had been repurposed without the Master’s knowledge. The Bardlings – as some of the townspeople had taken to calling the children who acted so much like their father – knew that if they were found out the Master would run them out of town at the very least. However, they didn’t mind the risk since the Master would have to invade Mirkwood territory to find proof, and he had no authority to do so. The only reason that Bard was allowed within this area was because of the old agreements King Thranduil had with the old Kings of Dale. 

Sometimes Sigrid forgot that she was technically a princess. 

For years, the family of the disgraced King Girion had worked as bargemen bringing goods from Mirkwood to Esgaroth. When Bain reached his majority, he would join their father in the family business. Sigrid and Tilda would either stay with their father or marry. Tilda was determined to find her true love and live happily ever after; Sigrid had long decided that she would never marry. As she nocked her bow, she reaffirmed that determination. She let her arrow fly, and it hit the target just to the right of Bain’s.  
“Still not as good as me, sister,” he crowed. 

She gave him a coy look. “Yes, but I am still more consistent than you, brother.”

“Bain, Sigrid,” Bard admonished. 

“Impressive.”

The little family whirled around, four bows nocked and ready. A lilting, mocking laugh issued from the direction they faced, and an elf melted out of the forest. Sigrid felt her breath freeze in her lungs. The distinctive crown wreathing his head proclaimed him as none other than Thranduil, King of Mirkwood. “I had heard from my guards that a family of Men was using my woods to practice their archery, but I am impressed by your skill. Now, more importantly, who are you?”

With those words, three more elves appeared, a blond male that looked a great deal like the king, a red-haired maiden, and another brunet lord. They each stood with weapons relaxed, but Bard and the Bardlings all knew that they were battle ready. One wrong move on the part of the Men and they would be slain in mere seconds. “I am Bard the Bargeman, and these are my children. We apologize if our presence is unwanted. I only thought that since this area was deserted that you elves wouldn’t care that we were here.”

The king’s head cocked to the side. “Only the direct line of the old King of Dale is allowed within my lands.” His wide, unearthly eyes were such a shade of green that Sigrid had only seen in the forests. 

Sigrid could see her father’s jaw tightening in anger. “I am Bard, son of Girion. My great-grandfather was the man who tried to slay a dragon.”

“And failed,” Thranduil said without pity. His bored gaze turned to the children. “Who are your children then?”

Bard gave them a tense look as he gestured to each in turn. “My eldest daughter Sigrid, my son Bain, and my youngest child Tilda.”

“Where is their mother? Tending hearth and home?” the king asked languidly as he approached them. 

Sigrid felt the same stab of grief that she saw come over her father’s face. “My wife is dead these past ten years. She died giving birth to Tilda.”

The elf king stopped, his gaze suddenly softer, knowing. “A widower.” Sigrid looked to the elf who resembled the king, and saw the same sorrow in his eyes. _That’s right, the elf-king of Mirkwood lost his wife too._

Thranduil stopped in front of Sigrid, a lean, pale hand reaching out to gently touch her chin. Without needing more than a light pressure, the girl raised her head until her eyes met the king’s. The elf-king’s eyes were beautiful, but something within them terrified the girl. She felt like he was seeing into her very soul, and he did not like what he saw. “You have ravens in your future, girl.” His voice had taken on a curious depth, and when he shook his head lightly, Sigrid realized that he had not meant to say what he had. 

Bard took a step forward, ready to defend his daughter. The elven escort went to meet him, but Thranduil held up a staying hand. “Legolas, Tauriel, do not fault him for something I would do for you should you be threatened.” His eyes flicked to Bard. “Your daughter will not be harmed, Bard, son of Girion. The ravens will not harm her on purpose.”

“And what care do you have for a daughter of Men?” Bard all but snapped. “Respectfully,” he muttered as an afterthought. 

Perfectly wrought lips curved into a smile. “I like you, Bard of Laketown,” he said with false joviality, “Continue training your children in the arts of the bow here on the edges of my lands. They will need them in the coming days.” The king’s eyes turned to the red-haired maid. “Tauriel, stay with them until they are done for the day.”

“Yes, my lord,” the maiden answered, her voice soft and almost girlish to Sigrid’s ears. 

The king nodded to the little family and melted back into the woods from whence he came. Bard turned to the elf maiden, and nodded. “So you are to be our watch-dog?”

“My king knows that I am partial to the world outside of the forest,” she murmured in reply, “Perhaps this is his way of keeping me out of trouble more than for your sake.” She smiled, “I am Tauriel.”

Bard nodded and then turned back to his children. “Then, back to practice.”

Tauriel didn’t seem to mind her father’s rudeness all that much. Sigrid gave the beautiful elf-maid a smile before she turned back to her practice. For a half-an-hour, Tauriel watched them, and it wasn’t until Sigrid finally ran out of arrows that the elf said anything else. “Have you any skill with knives?”

The melodious voice had Bard’s head whipping towards her, but Sigrid was glad to see that their father held his tongue. “No,” she replied, “Father hasn’t taught us that.”  
The red-headed elf nodded and glanced to Bard. “Would you allow her to learn?”

Her father nodded. “If you agree to teach all of us.”

Tauriel merely smiled.  
~~

Irmo glanced up to Varda, Vaila of Stars, with a curious look in his eyes. “Thranduil is strong willed. He would not bear my touch for long.”

“Thranduil is a strong-willed child,” she answered indulgently. “All of my Woodland children are.”

“Be that as it may,” Irmo stated, “We needed to give the girl a bit more warning than that. She must be prepared for her part in this play.”

Varda watched the small family of Men and the Elf maiden. “She has agreed to teach them the arts of blades. Is that not enough?”

The Vala of Dreams shook his head. “I cannot tell. It would seem that our interference has been noted by Eru. He hums to confuse my sight.”

She blinked. “But why would Eru do such?”

“That my love, is what we must discuss,” came a voice form behind the two. 

Both turned to see Manwë standing in front of his throne. They had been in the Ring of Doom, using the viewing pool to see the events that they needed to nudge along. They realized that the other Valar were quickly filling the room, and they stepped back to their respective thrones. Varda took up her position at Manwë’s side, and Irmo joined his wife, Estë, at their thrones. When the group was assembled, Manwë nodded and gestured for them all to sit. 

“I have called this assembly because Eru has made his thoughts known to me,” the king of the Valar began. “He does wish us to stop Sauron, but he does not wish us to interfere too heavily into this affair. He does not want us to override the will of his children.”

The others shared looks, and Aulë called out, “So he does not think I would safeguard the will of dwarves? He may have adopted them – for which I am most grateful – but that are mine too.”

“It is not the dwarves that concern him,” Manwë replied patiently. “It is the daughter of Man, the Elf maiden, and the Hobbit lass.”

Yavanna and Aulë shared a look, but this time it was the Green Lady who spoke. “But the Hobbit is again, one of mine. I would safe guard her, and Varda would care for the Elf maiden.”

“But the Hobbit lass has the blood of Man in her as well,” the king replied. “And none of you spoke up for the daughter of Man either. But it is not his intent to say that we do not care for those that we have adopted as our own children.” The Vala of Air glanced around and then groaned. “Have none of us ever seen a parent push a child into something that child does not want, but the parent deems best for him or her? Eru is concerned that we may be doing just such a thing here.”

This stopped the others cold. “He has decided that we may only involve four in the attempt to steer events the way they need to go, and those four must not sway the three dwarves and their brides in any way. Your help must be peripheral.”

Another look was shared between the Smith and his wife. “Of course, we two will help. These are our people you speak of.”

Irmo nodded. “I must be involved as well,” he said. “I have already touched Thranduil, and I need to keep guiding him. His stubbornness could destroy all that we hope to accomplish.”

The others looked to Varda, expecting her to take the fourth spot, but instead Nienna spoke. “I will be the fourth.”

This surprised even Manwë. “You have not seen fit to be concerned with this before now. What has changed?”

Nienna stood from her lonely throne and strode to the viewing pool at the center of the ring. She touched the water with her toe, conjuring up the picture of the dwarven king-in-exile. “His sorrow calls to me.”

She touched the waters again, and the picture of the hobbit lass appeared. “Her loneliness sings to me.”

Again, she touched the water and a picture appeared. “The Elf maiden’s life has been bereft of much loss, but her heart is wild and full of such hope.” The water changed to show the youngest dwarf prince. “And his heart matches hers.”

The waters now showed the daughter of Man. “She carries such burdens, but her spirit endures.” The elder of the two dwarf princes appeared now. “And his spirit burns just as brightly as hers.”

Finally, she conjured up an image of the lost Maiar. “And she deserves our help. I know what happened to her, and I cannot let her compassion condemn her.”

Nienna turned away from the pool to face her king. “These Children of Eru Iluvatar deserve happiness. Their hope and endurance should not be rewarded with death and pain, for that is what will come if we do not help them. I have heard their tears and their prayers, _and I will not abandon them_.”

Her words rang for a moment through the room, and a small, sad smile graced her face. The others gasped, and huge grins split Irmo and Mandos’s faces. The smiles of Nienna were few and far between, but filled with such hope as to lighten even the darkest night. 

In the face of this, Manwë nodded. “Then let it be so. Aulë, Yavanna, Irmo, and Nienna will journey forth into Middle-Earth. They will help the Ravens and the Roses defeat Sauron.”

~~  
Every other day for almost a week, Tauriel came to their little spot by the mouth of the river. She taught Bard and his children all she knew of blades. Bain and Bard took to swords easily, and all of the ladies couldn’t help but laugh when they watched father and son spar with one another. The two constantly snipped and sniped at each other, trading insults like they were pirates in a play. 

Sigrid, however, found herself more apt with thrown blades. She found her mark more often than not, and while her aim was still not the same as her brother and father, Tauriel was impressed. “Aim for the torso,” she told Sigrid, “The larger areas of the body. You have good aim, but the head and neck are hard to hit. You may not immediately take down the opponent, but you will weaken them.”

She also found herself quickly making friends with the elf-maiden. Sigrid liked Tauriel’s no-nonsense manner so similar to her own, and the elf’s humor. It was scathing but seldom meant to be truly hurtful. They traded stories of lives lived without a parent – Tauriel’s father had been lost in one of the many battles of the Second Age – and serving a capricious lord. Granted, Sigrid often thought, Thranduil would probably make a better master than the Master of Laketown. 

However, on the seventh day, the little family found themselves meeting a different elf. It was the blond one they’d seen with Thranduil, and Sigrid felt her stomach plummet with disappointment. Bard did not acknowledge the change, but little Tilda seemed the most put out. “Where is Tauriel?”

Eerie eyes turned to the child, but a small smile graced his lips. “Tauriel was sent to Rivendell. Master Elrond requested her presence.”

“Why would he do that?” Tilda asked.

The blond elf gave a shake of his head. “I do not know.”

Tilda nodded and pursed her lips. “So who are you?” Behind the child, Bard put his face in his hand, Bain rolled his eyes, and Sigrid cringed. 

~~  
After Bree, there was only the Wild. It wasn’t an instant change, but as they moved farther east, Belle noticed the mark of people less and less. Farms went from being right beside each other to being spaced out generously to being miles and miles apart. The only constant was the plant life, oaks and maples and all sorts of bushes and flowers that Belle recognized from home. 

Belle was still not adjusting to traveling all that well. She was always the last to wake in the morning, and she knew that Thorin would always grow impatient to be moving while she readied herself in the morning. She discovered that it was harder to get her corset on in the mornings than she’d first thought. Her corset was not conveniently built with hooks in the front, so she had to untie and retie it every day. Not to mention she had to strip out of her bodice in order to get it on. 

The rest of the Company had been as gallant as rough dwarves could be, but they didn’t allow their feelings for her to get in the way of getting things done. Dwalin was often the first to snap at her for doing things incorrectly, such as saddling her pony. After a rather slap-dash demonstration by Bofur, she was expected to do it expertly every morning after she’d already annoyed herself by shimmying into her usually comfy corset. A week had passed and she was still all thumbs, but thankfully after the second day Bifur had taken it upon himself to patiently go through the steps with her each morning. 

She had begun to pick up on his strange hand sign language, and the highlight of her days was riding with him and practicing the signs. She had requested to learn in Bree, and Bifur was a patient teacher. He had advised her that she was learning the language with the blessing of Thorin, and she was not to share what she knew with anyone else. She was being according a great honor, and she should respect that. Her progress learning iglishmêk was much quicker than her progress at learning how to saddle a blasted pony. 

Bifur had also become something of a mentor to her. He was protective and kind, and Belle couldn’t help but be reminded of her own father. Bungo Baggins hadn’t been a rough and tumble dwarf, but he had loved to go on “adventures” with his daughter. She had been the apple of his eye, cared for and coddled like none other, and Bifur’s regard felt so much like that. It was a comfort even when the rest of her life felt like it was tumbling into the pits of Utumno. It was he who told off Dwalin for snapping at her, and gave Thorin the evil eye every time their leader deigned to gripe at her.

Gandalf also tried to buffer her from the ire of the Company’s leader, but he couldn’t stop Thorin from glaring at her from his perch on Minty while she watched Bifur for the fifth time demonstrating how to correctly tighten the girth of the saddle. Gandalf also couldn’t save her from the aches and pains of riding incessantly. She wobbled every time she dismounted, and usually was only saved from falling by sweet yet excitable Ori. He had even taken to riding beside her at the end of the day so that he would be in place. 

She tried to help Bombur cook in the evenings, but campfire cooking was different from kitchen cooking. She also wasn’t as well versed in all the tricks one could use to bake and such. Again, she was fortunate that Bombur was more than willing to trade expertise for expertise. He taught her how to cook with the limited tools available and she taught him some of her best recipes. He and Dori also liked talking to her about hobbits and their fashions, and Dori seemed to especially like talking about hobbit finery. 

Kili and Fili enjoyed teasing her, and one night when she heard the shrill screams of wargs they decided to try to terrorize her by discussing orcs. They described all of the horrid things that could befall travelers who ran afoul of the evil creatures. For the first time in a fortnight, Thorin actually seemed to be on her side. “Do you find orcs and wargs funny?” he barked. 

Both princes looked aghast. Balin sagely reminded them and explained to Belle why Thorin hated orcs so. As he described the Battle of Azanulbizar, she felt her heart squeezing. Losing his home, then watching his grandfather die and his father go insane . . . Life had not been pleasant for Thorin Oakenshield. Standing with the rest of the Company, who had risen upon hearing the story told ever so proudly by Balin, she could tell that she wasn’t the only one who felt for him. Granted, she admired and sympathized with him. The others all but worshipped him or held him as their king. 

As she tried to go to sleep that night, cringing at the sound of wargs crying into the night, she thought about why she was here in the first place. She wanted to help them regain their home, to take back just one thing that had been taken from them, but she felt now like she was a hindrance to their quest. She slowed them down, she didn’t perform any sort of important function, and quite frankly even with Gandalf’s protestations to the contrary, she wasn’t particularly needed as a burglar. As her thoughts grew bleaker and bleaker, she felt a tear run down her cheek. 

The next morning she woke at dawn, and found that amazingly enough she was one of the first to wake. She stretched muscles that had long since stopped aching at sleeping on hard ground. As she stood, rolling her blanket around her – and her corset – like she did every morning, she smiled at Nori and Glóin who had been on watch. The two smiled back, and wished her good morning as she plodded off to empty her bladder and get into her corset. She walked until she reached the small stream near their camp, and contemplated having a little wash as well.

She had contemplated simply going without the undergarment, but she’d worn it since she was a young tween. Appropriately enough, Belladonna Rose had budded early, and the piece of underwear was a comfort. She didn’t tighten it as much as she usually would, but it helped her back by keeping her from slumping in the saddle. She’d discovered that one the third day out of Bree – she’d left it off and found her back killing her after a day of slumping over in the saddle. Since then, even though sometimes it was a pain, she put it on in the morning. 

This morning, however, the strings had gotten hopelessly tangled, and after the night before and her worries of how she was useless to the Company, it was simply too much. A week’s worth of frustration and pain and embarrassment welled up and spilled over. She sobbed her little hobbit heart out, great sobs that she was amazed the dwarves didn’t hear all the way back at camp. It took several minutes, but finally she felt the tears starting to slow. 

~~  
Thorin now seriously doubted the wisdom of bringing along the hobbit lass. Mistress Baggins had proved be far less adept at pretty much everything required for long distance travel. She’d obviously never camped, never ridden, and her soft hands had gotten chapped and callused from hard work that she wasn’t used to. She took forever to ready herself in the mornings, and her habit of startling any time she heard a noise late at night was growing tedious. She also needed someone to hold her hand through most of her basic tasks, and though he hadn’t said anything to Bifur, the dwarf’s insistence on saddling her pony was going to stop. 

It did not help Thorin’s disposition that Gandalf was eternally harping at him to give her time, reminding him that Belle had never ventured out of the Shire. That was the only reason that Thorin didn’t make his displeasure known to her – she was still learning. However, he reserved the right to be endlessly frustrated by it. 

The morning after he had a talk with his nephews about purposely trying to scare the hobbitess found him waking with the sun as he usually did. Nori and Gloin greeted him while Bombur cooked a quick breakfast. The others were up and moving, but it was Gloin who took his notice. Every so often the red-headed dwarf would glance into the trees opposite from where he was sending the others to take care of their bodily needs. 

“Gloin,” he murmured, “What worries you?”

“Belle went off early this morning,” the red-head murmured with a concerned look on his face. “She hasn’t returned.”

“I will check,” Thorin replied. He went the way that Gloin pointed, making sure that he was being as noisy as possible – an easy feat for a dwarf. He didn’t want to startle her if he could avoid it.

He almost didn’t see her at first, but a flash of white drew his eye a little more to his left. Thorin Oakenshield froze, his heart going into overdrive at the sight that greeted his eyes. The hobbit lass was stripped down to her chemise from the waist up, and the thin linen didn’t hide the shadow of dusky nipples set high on generous breasts. He swallowed thickly and wondered what they would look like without even the screen of sheer fabric to veil them. She sat on the bank of the stream and was combing out her long, wavy brown hair, her legs sweeping back beneath her hip. The silky stuff fell to her waist, and suddenly he felt the urge to see her clad in nothing but the mantle of her hair. As he watched, her graceful arms came up and gathered it up into the prim bun that he was used to seeing on her. 

Then she picked up an unfamiliar piece of clothing that she frowned at. She pulled at the strings, and as he watched in helpless fascination she finally untangled the apparently recalcitrant lacing. She pulled it over her head and stood up gracefully. She began to tighten the garment until it was snug, and Thorin couldn’t help but notice that it served to lift her breasts up into their usual pleasing shape. It emphasized her natural curves and the King under the Mountain found himself with the urge to run his hands over those curves. 

It finally occurred to him that _he was staring at her while thinking incredibly lewd thoughts_ , and that she was currently performing her morning toilette. He felt a wave of intense shame at ogling her, and with an internal wince at his extreme rudeness, he purposefully stepped on a stick. The snap seemed impossibly loud as her head whipped to him and Thorin’s internal turmoil increased when he realized that her face showed signs of recent tears. Bloodshot, puffy eyes met his and she squeaked as she hurried to lace up her outer dress. 

“I apologize,” he said with utter solemnity. He held out his hands to her. “I did not mean to disturb your privacy in such a heinous manner. I only came because Gloin was concerned that you were taking longer than usual.”

She blinked at him in confusion. “I . . . It’s alright. I’m amazed that someone hasn’t stumbled across me on accident before now.” She gave him a small smile as she tucked a stray piece of hair that had escaped her bun back behind her ear. “Admittedly I expected it to be Kili or maybe Ori.”

Pride forced him to admit fully to his wrong-doing. “Mistress Burglar . . . I have stood here since before you put up your hair.”

“Oh,” she said with surprise and no little bit of embarrassment coloring her face. She looked away and bit her lip. She looked back and him. “Why didn’t you say anything?”  
“I was surprised myself,” he admitted. “And to be completely blunt it’s been quite a while since I’ve seen a woman in any state of undress.”

The corners of her mouth turned up. “If there is one thing I can count on from dwarves, it’s your honesty. You’re still forgiven – as long as you promise not to do it again.” She bit her lip again and fiddled with her bodice. “My mother told me once about a time when she visited Rivendell and accidentally wound up in front of Lord Elrond completely naked.”

Thorin couldn’t help the smile that graced his face, but decided that was a story for another time. He gave her a little bow. “Why were you crying?”

A small laugh escaped her. “No good reason. A little bit of self-pity that I shouldn’t feel.”

Thorin stared into those dark blue eyes like the best sapphires and felt something within him shift. There was strength there, beneath the hobbit’s fluff and inexperience. Strength and compassion. Instead of throwing a fit because of his vulgar leering, she forgave him and offered an anecdote of her mother’s exploits. She still complained too much, sighed at every inconvenience, but maybe he really needed to listen to Gandalf and further reign in his temper. She was trying. “Come along back to the camp Mistress Burglar. You have a pony to saddle incorrectly.”

The look on her face was venomous. “Do you always ruin nice moments by being a complete clot-head?” A moment later she looked a bit guilty, as if she regretted her harsh words. 

“I do my best,” he replied, deciding that he liked when she fought back. 

She cocked her head and narrowed her eyes. “Well don’t try too hard,” she said lightly as she all but sashayed past him. “You might pull something.”

Thorin stifled a laugh as he followed along behind the lass. He made a silent pledge to be less harsh with the lass for the rest of the journey, and to take into account her inexperience before rising to anger. 

Too bad that pledge wouldn’t last the coming night. 

~~  
After returning to camp, Belle went straight for her pack. She rolled up her sleeping pallet and then attached it quickly to the pack. After accepting her share of breakfast, she marched over to Myrtle and scratched the pony’s ears. Even before she’d met Thorin at the stream, Belle had come to a decision about herself. Instead of wallowing in self-pity and bemoaning her inability to be useful, well, she’d _do something_ about it. 

And the first thing would be to saddle her own blasted pony. When he approached she gently told Bifur that she would handle it, and smiled brightly when he backed away. She was aware that the others were eyeing her curiously as they performed their own assigned chores of putting out the fire, burying refuse, and the like. She tried not to feel their stares on her back as she carefully went through the steps that Bifur had painstakingly gone through several times for her. She lifted up the heavy saddle, arms now stronger from carrying firewood back to camp making it just a bit easier to heave the thing up onto the pony’s back. 

Here came the parts that she usually messed up. She fitted together the girth straps, and with a silent apology to Myrtle, tightened them past what she would have judged as proper. She tested the saddle, and felt a burst of triumph when it didn’t shift across Myrtle’s back but still loose enough to let the creature breathe. She finished fastening the girth, and then let down the stirrups, pulling them out until they sat at the proper height for her feet. She then moved to Myrtle’s head, and cooed at the horse until she could fit the bit and bridle into place and then tightened the straps so that the bridle was snug, but the bit wasn’t pulled too far back into the mouth. 

Looking at her handy-work, Belle felt like cheering. She turned to Bifur and found the sweet older dwarf giving her a grin. “Good job!” he signed. 

“Yes, well done Mistress Burglar,” Thorin said from his perch on Minty, “But you did it backwards. You should bridle then saddle.”

Belle swung back to him and put her hands on her hips. “Do they teach the art of criticism as part of kingly training or is that just you?”

It was almost an even split between the party at who looked surprised and who stifled a laugh. Gandalf’s eyes twinkled merrily from beneath his white brows while Balin looked like he was fighting the urge to join in the heckling of the king. Kili and Fili were both staring at Belle as if she’d grown another head since her innate sarcasm hadn’t shown its head since they’d left Hobbiton. Ori’s mouth was a perfect “O” of surprise while Nori and Dori chuckled at beside him. Bifur and Bofur were both smiling in gleeful surprise while Bombur’s great belly heaved in silent mirth. Dwalin looked perplexed by Belle’s sudden character change, and both Glóin and Oin blinked at each other in surprise.

A kingly brow cocked up in response. “A king should know how to direct and guide his subjects. It’s a requirement for being a good ruler.”

Belle swung up onto Myrtle with a huff. “I thought all you needed to be a good ruler was to be a pompous windbag.” She cocked her head. “Oh wait, that and what you described are the same thing.”

This time the laughter couldn’t be contained. Irreverent folk that they were, the dwarves enjoyed the hobbit lass’s sudden fire. It was much preferable to the sullen demeanor that had been her constant companion these past few days. As they all mounted up, Bofur began singing a rather jaunty tune that the others joined in. Belle merely sang nonsense syllables along with it because she couldn’t understand the language they sang in. She guessed it was Khuzdul, the spoken language that Gandalf had explained was a secret known only to dwarves. She listened, and reflected that she was glad that she was allowed to learn iglishmêk, the sign language Bifur used. It wasn’t a secret, but it also wasn’t something that dwarves jumped to teach outsiders. 

Bofur and Bifur rode beside her, the path allowing them to ramble along as they pleased. Bifur signed to her, “Glad to see your pep again, lass.”

She wondered if he realized that he spoke out loud and was unintentionally teaching her Khuzdul. The reason that Gandalf had told her about it was to caution her not to try to speak it with the dwarves unless they allowed it. He had heard her practicing the iglishmêk signs and using the accompanying words that Bifur used. Since then, she’d made sure that any vocalizations she made with the hand language were in the common tongue, not Khuzdul. “I did some thinking last night, and decided that it was time to stop being a lump on a log.”

“Good choice lass,” Bofur replied. “You’re prettier when you’re not being a sad sap.”

She turned a dry look to him. “Why thank you.” The three shared another laugh while the sun rose higher into the sky. For the first time in a week, Belle found herself truly happy. She could overcome obstacles in her way, and none of these dwarrow would mind overly much if she occasionally grew saucy in speech. In fact, they seemed to love hearing her razor sharp tongue. As they rode through the day, the three of them were chuckling and cutting up like fauntlings at their first party. 

~~  
That afternoon they ran across a burned out farmhouse. Belle felt her stomach drop at the sight of the ghastly structure that stood out in the open field like a melancholy monument. “Bifur,” she signed, “Is it really safe to be here?”

He gave her a tight smile. “I don’t know, but I trust Thorin. He wouldn’t lead us astray.” He glanced again at the burned out building. “At least, not knowingly.”

She shook her head. “Well,” she said aloud, “Are we camping here?”

Gandalf looked a bit perturbed by the place as he dismounted his white steed. “A farmer and his family used to live here.”

Thorin cast a glance at the wizard and shook his head. “We will make camp up a ways from here, close to those trees.”

The wizard did not leave the wreckage of the abandoned farm house. “Thorin, we shouldn’t camp here.”

The dwarf king in exile sent the wizard a look. “And why not? These people will not care what we do or do not do here.”

“This man was a farmer of sheep,” Gandalf snapped. “He and his wife had been living here for years with a young son. They would not willingly leave this land! Not to mention the farmer’s flock of sheep!”

The proud Oakenshield all but growled at the grey-haired wizard. “Bandits! Orcs! Trolls, for all we know! The world is a dangerous place Tharkûn! Who knows what attacked the farmer and his sheep!”

Gandalf seemed to expand in pure fury, his eyes gleaming in the afternoon sun. For the first time in her life, Belle found herself terrified of the old, gentle wizard who had so often visited when she was younger. In his place was a creature of fury. “Your pride will be your downfall Oakenshield! Your pride and selfishness, unless you can learn those things that are truly important in the world!”

His dark prophecy delivered, the grey wizard whirled and stalked off. The dwarves followed him for a moment with their eyes, and Thorin didn’t say a word after him. Instead, he turned and beckoned the Company to follow him to the place that he originally had wanted to camp for the night. Belle couldn’t help but shiver as she passed the burned out building.


	5. Trolls, and Orcs, and Dwarves, Oh my!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, thank you for all of the kudos and lovely comments! 
> 
> I would also like to apologize in advance: I did not mean to write Belle as being a troll shipper! It just kinda . . . happened. 
> 
> I also apologize for the long time in updating. The end of the year has been busy for me. :)

Belle watched the fire and tried not to feel like something was crawling up her spine. They had made camp quickly and efficiently, but she could tell that everyone was a little spooked by Gandalf’s dark words from earlier. Darkness had fallen with a swift abruptness that she found alarming. However, she had learned that dwarves were not much affected by the darkness or the fall of night. She supposed that living in dark mountain halls made them unafraid of it. Hobbits, though, were creatures of sunlight and meadow. The dark of night unnerved most of them as if some wild, animal part of them recognized that they had no business being out and about while Tilion rode the river of the sky. 

The dwarves seemed more bothered by Gandalf’s dire prediction than they did by the darkening of the sky. “Who does he think he is,” Nori muttered, “Making high handed remarks like that?” 

“Shush you!” Dori said while flapping his hands at his younger sibling. “You know full well to heed the words of Tharkûn!”

“But it was an insult to Thorin!” young Ori agreed. He glanced over at the king who was deep in conversation with Dwalin.

“It isn’t an insult if it’s true,” Balin whispered from across the fire. At least, it was a dwarven whisper so that to Belle’s more sensitive (and less forge-damaged) hearing it was a clear statement. “Our king has sacrificed much for his people, but he has yet to let go of his enormous pride. I agree with Tharkûn. If Thorin doesn’t learn when to sacrifice his pride for the good of his people, he will come to a bad end.”

Belle was tempted to refute Balin, to explain about that morning and how a haughty king would not have asked forgiveness so sincerely, but she stayed her words. She simply couldn’t imagine what sort of teasing she’d endure if the others found out that Thorin had seen her in such a state of dishabille. Instead she helped dole out the stew that Bombur had made, and eat quietly while talk turned to other things. “Belle,” Bombur asked with a smile, “Would you take this to the boys? They’re on watch.”

“Of course!” she answered, glad to be useful. As she passed him, she gave Thorin a small smile, and received a nod of recognition in return. Inside she felt her belly go fluttery and twisty in a way that it hadn’t done since she first fell into rabid like with Meridian Brandybuck. They had eventually gone their separate ways, but she always cherished the memories of her one young love. However, she realized with Thorin it was a bit different. It wasn’t a gentle smile and a happy laugh that attracted to her to him, but instead a noble purpose and brooding mien that currently fascinated her. With Meridian she’d imagined only chaste kisses shared under the moonlight, but with Thorin . . . 

Well, let us just say that her thoughts were a bit more risqué.

As she trotted out to where the boys were on watch, she began to hum her favorite song. She considered bursting into song, but a rustle in the trees startled her. “Fíli? Kíli? IS that you?”

No one answered her, but the rustle came again. She cautiously approached the sound, and nearly shrieked when she finally saw what was making the noise. The creature was at least twice the height of the dwarves with skin of pasty white. It was bald with a squashed skull and grotesque features. Belle didn’t really have a name for the creature, but she thought it looked like her grandfather Took’s description of a mountain troll. The creature was holding two ponies, and blinked at her in confusion. “What’s this then? Who’re you?”

Belle swallowed hard, her throat seizing in terror. The creature’s tiny eyes were fixed on her, and the hobbit lass knew that she was in trouble. “I’m Belle,” she replied as she was at a loss at what to do. “I’m a hobbit.”

The lumbering creature plopped down the ponies, and the creatures promptly ran the other way screaming in mortal terror. Belle almost went with them except almost as soon as the thing dropped its original cargo it picked her up. She let loose an undignified shriek as it lifted her into the air. It held her close to its face, and even had the temerity to sniff her. “Hum, are you good to eat? You smell good. Like flowers, you does.”

Belle’s throat complete froze so that she couldn’t answer. The troll turned back and cursed when he realized that the ponies had already run off. “Well then, doesn’t right matter because you’re all I’ve got for dinner now!”

The troll lumbered away from the path, Belle clutched in his meaty hand. She gasped, and tried to scream, but all that would come out was a strangled, thin wail. _Oh, Belladonna Rose, what are you going to do now?_ She looked around wildly, trying her best to find a way out of this horrible mess. Out of the corner of her eye, she thought she glimpsed movement, but it was hard to tell as the trees rushed by her. 

“Lookit what I found!” the troll cried upon reaching his camp. “She calls herself a hobbit, but she looks like she will be pretty good in a stew.”

The camp was in a huge clearing in the trees set against a small ridge. A rough pen was set up in the shadow of the ridge. Two more of the creatures sat around a fire with a huge spit. Belle tried not to wonder too closely at the piles of bones she saw at their feet. Some she recognized as spines, ribs, and . . . the skulls of Men. A scream was building in her throat, but it didn’t fly free. Instead, she tamped it down, well aware that it might just end her life quicker. “Hello,” she said to the other two. “Who are you?”

The trolls blinked at one another. “Uh, I’m William.”

“And I’m Tom.”

The one holding her muttered, “I’m Bert.”

“Well, I’m Belle Baggins at your service.” She smiled brightly. “How are you?”

The three trolls shared a look. “Urgh, we’re okay?”

“Lovely!” Belle cried with a clap of her hands. She made an exaggerated glance around and then pointed to a bag on the ground. “Is that tea I spy? I would love some tea before dinner!” 

Bert looked to William in utter confusion. “What do we do?”

William got up and lumbered to his companion. Belle gave the one known as William a huge smile. “What kind of tea do you have?”

The troll took Belle from his friend, and she checked a squeal of terror as she found herself facing this one head on. He seemed to be larger than his companion, and she felt her heart speed up. “Ballsy baggage. Asking for tea before dinner when you are dinner.”

Desperation, terror, and Tookish blood all boiled together to form probably the most cockamamie plan ever to exist in all the realms of Arda. “Well yes, because that’s the best way to cook hobbit!”

Tom piped up happily, “You know how to cook hobbit!”

“Well yes,” she said with a toothy grin. “The people who love to eat hobbit best are other hobbits!” She held up her hand and began to tick off the steps. “First you have to let them drink two cups of tea, then you make sure to place them in a large pan with some sage, oregano, and basil. You can also put them in with some carrots, potatoes, and onions to taste, and of course don’t skimp on the salt and pepper! After that you bake under the hottest coals you can make for four hours.”

William was nodding the entire time. “I gots all of those ingredients! Well then, Tom! Get some water to boil so that we can feed this hobbit her tea! I’ve got black and green, which is better?”

“Oh!” Belle said with a mock happiness, “Black please!”

~~  
In the trees surrounding the clearing, Thorin nearly had an apoplexy. “Did she really just tell them how to _cook her properly_?!”

Beside him Balin was biting back a laugh. “The lass is clever. She just bought herself some time, laddie.”

Fíli and Kili shared a look. “We’re sorry uncle.”

“Nothing to be sorry about,” Thorin said gently. “Her capture is not on your head. Losing the ponies, now that is on your heads.”

Both young Durins shared a pained look. Dwalin patted Kili on the head. “Don’t worry, laddies. We’ve all made mistakes before.”

“Yeah, but if we’d spotted the troll and raised the alarm, Belle wouldn’t be on their menu!” Kili burst out. 

Dwalin and Balin shared a look. It was left unsaid that Kili reminded them of Thorin as a youngster. Balin especially missed the young prince’s antics, and being around Kili was always a pleasant reminder. They had missed seeing a young, playful prince as opposed to a brooding king-in-exile. 

“Quiet lad!” Bofur admonished. “If they know we’re here then our advantage is lost!”

Bombur looked nervously at the fire. “That cook fire looks hot enough to prepare the coals they’ll need in a jiffy. We must get Belle out of there before they decide to put her in the pan!”

Nori gently tapped on Balin’s shoulder. “I can sneak over and –“

Balin shook his head before Nori could finish. “No, look where they’re sitting. These trolls may be idiots, but they aren’t fools. They have their back to the ridge, and Belle between them so she won’t escape. There’ll not be any way of getting her back by stealth.”

Thorin let out a deep breath, hating that Balin was right. Hating the fact that he was now watching the hobbit lass having a deceptively merry conversation with three trolls that were intent on eating her. He raged at the fact that he could tell from her wide eyes and tight smile that she was utterly terrified. Thorin couldn’t stand that one of his people was in danger, and he was nearly powerless. Where in the name of Mahal was Tharkûn when you needed him?!

Bifur tapped him on the shoulder and Thorin turned to him. The grizzled dwarf with the axe in his head looked very grave. “My king,” he said in soft Khuzdul, “We must get her back.”

“I know,” Thorin answered softly in the same language. “We need her.”

“More than that,” Bifur continued. “She has become precious to me.”

For a moment, Thorin felt a touch of vertigo. Bifur and Belle? “She is your One?”

A small bark of laughter rippled from the other dwarf. “No! Mahal in Valinor no! But I wish to claim her as kin. I did not saddle her pony for almost a week because I felt sorry for her. I wish to claim her as a daughter.”

It was not uncommon for childless dwarves to adopt children as their own. Most parents welcomed this to ensure that a child was always protected and also as a way of allowing them new opportunities to learn trades other than the ancestral ones. Thorin looked deep into Bifur’s eyes. “Would you protect her as a daughter then?”

“I would,” he answered. 

Thorin nodded. “Then I will help you regain the daughter of your heart.”

The grin on the other dwarf’s face was huge. “Thank you,” he murmured, his Khuzdul soft and a little broken by the emotion in his words. 

“You have truly taken a shine to her haven’t you?” Thorin replied softly, the old tongue rolling from his mouth like an old friend. 

“Get to be my age, young king,” Bifur said softly, “And you learn to grab onto what makes you happy. She wishes to help us reclaim Erebor, a place she’s never even seen. Probably hadn’t even heard of it until we dropped on her front step, but she’s here in peril because she wanted to help. That’s a soul that needs protecting.”

The king-in-exile nodded, glancing back out at the scene of the hobbit lass taking tea with the trolls. She was currently regaling them with tales of the Shire. The trolls were guffawing about something she’d said, and she was beaming that fake smile. Thorin realized that Belle always smiled. She smiled when she was insulted, she smiled when she was nervous, and she smiled when she was sad. Her happy smiles were like sunshine, and all the others were tentative, as if asking silently ‘this is how you smile, right?’. Bifur was right, this soft little daughter of the Shire was not meant to be dragged about the Wild to be eaten by trolls. 

“Where is Tharkûn when we need him?” Ori whispered sadly. 

“Off on his own business,” Nori scoffed. “Of course.”

Balin shifted around until he was facing the sky through a break in the trees. “It’ll be hours before sun up. I doubt we’ll be able to use the rising sun as a weapon. We’ll have to fight.”

“We need a plan,” Dwalin said. “If we go charging out there, they’ll either kill her or use her against us. We need to get her out of the line of fire.”

“And how do we do that with her on the other side of the campfire?” Bombur asked.

Balin made a small sound in his throat. “We wait for her to make us an opening. The lass is smart and she’s cunning. She’ll think of something.”

“Are you wanting to adopt her too?” Thorin muttered to his old friend. 

The look he received was full of paternal mischief. “Och, nay, lad! I was thinking that if none of you young dwarrow knew the worth of that gem sittin’ in front of you, I would simply take her for wife myself!”

~~  
_Thorin Oakenshield, where in the name of Yavanna and Aulë are you!_ , Belle thought as she continued to smile at Bert. Fortunately, the three trolls didn’t seem to notice how slowly she was drinking her tea. It would seem that they were lonely creatures who didn’t often have company – _imagine that!_ – and her little ears were about to talked off by the oddly gregarious monsters. They also kept topping her off, so she guessed that eating had been abandoned in the favor of entertaining. 

Bert was in the middle of a rousing story about how his Great Aunt Millie – _Trolls have Great Aunt Millies?_ – was being harassed by a village of Men when they finally ran out of tea in the pot. Belle’s mind began to race with thoughts of how to extend her life even a few moments more, but all William said was, “Ah! Time to refill the kettle!”

So the trolls set about making another pot of tea and Bert continued his story. Belle learned that Bert was the friend of William, and that William and Tom were brothers. Tom had a sweetheart back home named Mary, who had once been engaged to a troll named John, and there was a great scandal when John ran off with another male troll named Sherlock. Somehow, that set Bert off on a rant about how love had nothing to do with the shell of a person but with their soul. This led Belle to begin wondering about exactly how friendly William and Bert were since the two were sitting awfully close to one another and sharing looks . . . 

_Thorin Oakenshield, you better get here in the next ten minutes because I am gossiping with trolls like they’re hobbit matrons at a market day!_

She continued to sip her tea, and kept a jaundiced eye on the position of the moon. It was slowly sinking into the east, and she knew that the hours of night were passing swiftly by. They managed to drink another entire pot of tea before the hobbit’s bladder began to scream. “Urgh, Bert, I need to, uh, well, I need some privacy.”

“Oh!” Bert said with a little flap of his hands, “Come along then little one! Let’s get you taken care of!”

He led her away from the clearing a bit, and pointed to a tree that stank to high heaven. “That’s the privy tree.”

Belle nearly gagged. “The smell is quite strong. Would you mind if we went to another spot?”

“Well, no-“

Bert’s words were cut off by an axe burying itself into his lower back. He let out a shriek of agony and rage before turning on Dwalin. The troll was a formidable opponent, but he found himself out numbered and ambushed. He lunged for Ori, but before he could grab the small dwarf, Bofur had buried his mattock into the troll’s meaty arm. Rancid blood spurted as the troll reared back, and slid on the ground already soaked with his blood. Another axe fell on his back, widening the gaping wound before severing his spine. The troll’s now useless legs collapsed, and the ground shook with the impact. It was Dwalin who finally took the creature’s head. 

Belle had managed to control her bladder throughout all this, but she found herself staring at Bert’s body with tears in her eyes. “Oh, but he and William were in love.” It took her a moment to notice the gamut of surprised and confused looks being thrown her way. “What?” she snapped, gesturing back towards the clearing, “They made a cute couple!”

Dwalin’s palm met his face with an audible crack. “This is why lasses should stay at home. Sayin’ that trolls make cute couples! What’s next? A dwarf and an elf?!”

“I wouldn’t jinx it,” Bofur muttered under his breath. 

~~  
The hobbit glanced around wildly and said, “Don’t come around this tree!”

When the dwarves heard the sound of water hitting the ground, they all turned their backs to the tree for good measure. Thorin glanced at Dori who had a pinched look on his face. “Poor lass,” the white haired dwarf murmured. 

“Ah! Thank you,” she said as she returned to them. “Now, I believe we need to get moving because –“

“ _What have you done to Bert_!”

The dwarves all turned to face the troll that was roaring out of the forest. Thorin thought to grab the lass, but before he could reach her, Bifur was there. The older dwarf placed himself solidly between her and the danger. Thorin shifted his attention back to taking out the troll that was currently trying its best to decapitate Nori. The thief ducked out of the way, and Balin used the opportunity to duck beneath and land a solid blow to the creature’s stomach. 

However, that second the last troll came barreling out of the forest. The dwarves were fighting hard, but when he looked up Thorin realized that they had one last advantage. “Run for the edge!”

They all broke away, running for all they were worth through the trees. Dwarves were good sprinters, but Thorin realized that they would probably tire before reaching the edge of the forest. They ran through the trees like the wind, dodging and weaving through the trunks. They were all spurred on by the loud cracking of trees being smashed against huge bodies. Thorin almost cried out in joy when he saw that they made it to the edge of the wood, but realized something that ruined his plans. 

They were in the lee of the hill. 

The sun wouldn’t reach them in time. 

“Oh no,” Balin said, since he had already figured out Thorin’s plan. “The sun!”

The two trolls burst from the trees, roaring all the while. The dwarves braced themselves, figuring that this would be a fight to the finish. Without needing the command the Company took up positions surrounding the hobbit lass, making sure that she would be insulated from attack. 

An attack that never came. 

A roar unlike anything they’d ever heard before rang out, and Thorin realized that it wasn’t the voice of a man, dwarf, or elf. Standing on the edge of the hill silhouetted by the rising sun was none other than Tharkûn, his staff raised into the sky. The tip of it glowed like fire, but as the trolls shrieked in agony, the dwarves realized that it wasn’t fire, but sunlight. Stone statues soon stood where the trolls once did, looming out of the morning twilight. 

The Company stood stock still, shocked by the turn of events that led to them staring down two troll statues. The burglar let out a shuddering breath, and Bifur whirled to catch her before she hit the ground. Thorin turned, expecting to see her in a faint, but she was awake. Her knees had given out on her. “Thank you,” she said and weakly signed to Bifur. 

“My pleasure, daughter,” Bifur signed kindly. 

The lass’s eyes grew big, but so did the smile that she gifted Bifur. “Daughter?”

“If you wish it lassie,” Bifur replied. “I would be honored to call you daughter.”

The hobbit lass’s smile was huge and luminous in the dawn gloom. “I’ve missed having a father.”

The other dwarves cheered, but Thorin merely stared at their burglar. She’d nearly been eaten for a trio of trolls’ dinner. His mind conjured up a thousand different scenarios for how she could have been killed. This little yellow diamond could have been crushed out of existence, her entrails used to make sausages, her skull smashed against a rock . . . 

The first chance he got, he would be leaving her behind. He couldn’t allow any harm to come to her. 

~~  
Belle was still smiling like a loon when Gandalf finally got down to them. The wizard gave them a sigh. “Is everyone alright?”

“Yes,” Thorin murmured. “Where were you?”

“Looking ahead,” Gandalf replied as he examined the trolls. 

“But how did you know we needed help?” asked Ori. 

The wizard gave him a wink. “By looking behind.”

“Well, thank you, Tharkûn,” Balin said as he walked over to the wizard. 

“You’re welcome,” came the reply. “These are mountain trolls.”

“Yeah,” Belle said with a droll look, “Their village is up in the Misty Mountains.”

Everyone turned and gave her a look. She merely shrugged and went back to marveling at her new father figure. Her own dear father Bungo had been passed several years by now following her mother into the bosom of Yavanna. Bifur helped her back to her feet, and gave her a hug. “You did good lassie, keeping them busy.”

She gave a gusty sigh. “Thank you,” Belle said with a laugh, “Although I had no idea what I was doing.” 

“Do any of us ever?” Dwalin said with a smile as he slapped her back. She knew it was supposed to be a light blow, but he nearly sent her to her knees. “Come now! If those are trolls, there will be a hoard nearby!”

The other dwarves murmured happily amongst themselves while Gandalf rolled his eyes to the heavens. The Company trekked back up into the forest, following the trail of destruction until they’d arrived at the troll’s campsite. They glanced around the field of bones, and Belle shifted closer to Bifur. He put a hand on her shoulder, a comfort in the face of such death. Kili and Fíli examined the camp edges, and it was Kili who called out, “Over here! I’ve got tracks going back this way!”

The Company trailed behind the young son of Durin as he made his way back a ways from the camp. It was a walk of only a few moments, and when they reached the sizable cavern, Belle found herself nearly gagging again. The stench of troll sweat and Valar knew what else wafted from the opening, and the odor seemed to be as thick as soup. 

“Urgh,” Belle said, “What were they doing in there?”

“Well, considering what William and Bert were apparently up to,” Bofur started, “I would say that there was a fair amount of –“

“ _Bofur!_ ” came a chorus of voices. 

Belle blinked, and in a completely innocent voice said, “Oh, you mean they were rutting in there. I didn’t know it had a smell.” 

Gandalf burst into laughter at the looks on the dwarves’ faces as they examined Belle like she had two heads. “I told you,” he said between gales of laughter, “That hobbits were earthy creatures.”

“Yes,” Thorin wheezed, “But you didn’t tell us that they were that blunt!”

Belle and Gandalf shared a look at the irony of that statement. “For Yavanna and Aulë’s sakes! When you live beside sheep fields,” Belle replied, “You will see the act of reproduction sooner or later. Granted, I am still a maiden, but you dwarves talk about your bodily functions at dinner time. How is my knowing about the mechanics of procreation so shocking?”

There were grumbles from the dwarves at her pointing out the irony, but Bifur’s eyes merely sparkled with glee. “That’s my girl!” he signed to her, “Give them hell!”

Apparently deciding that they weren’t going to get anywhere by lolligagging with Belle, Bombur and Glóin finally stepped through the entrance as if they were trying to get away from the scandalous little hobbit in their midst. Most of the Company followed them inside, including Gandalf. Ori and Belle stayed outside. Belle simply wanted to breathe in the fresh air, but Ori seemed to be working himself up to ask her something. He had a look on his face that preluded him asking questions that would probably later be written down in his little book. 

“Belle,” he began, “You hobbits revere Yavanna, don’t you?”

She nodded. “Our true origins are lost to history, but many believe that Yavanna had something to do with our creation. We are an off-shoot of Man, but we believe that she guided our kind’s development.”

“Okay,” he replied, “But why do you include Aulë?”

A sunny smile graced her face. “Because we hobbits are farmers. As an old saying goes, without Aulë stewarding the earth, Yavanna could not raise the plants and animals that live upon it.”

Ori’s nose wrinkled in thought. “I see what you mean. We call Aulë by the name Mahal, and he is our creator."

“My mother told me that once,” she said brightly, “She said that dwarves were created by Aulë because he wished to take part in the creation of races. Is it true that when Eru found out, Aulë almost destroyed your kind?”

The young dwarf nodded. “It’s true. However, he ultimately did not. Instead, he laid the dwarves to sleep until the coming of Man, so that Eru’s Secondborn would not be upstaged.”

The two were interrupted from their discussion of mythology by the reemergence of Gandalf. The wizard held a small scabbard in his hand, and a wide smile graced his face. “Look at this, Belle! I think I’ve found a weapon that suits you!”

He handed it to the hobbit, and she awkwardly pulled the blade from the sheath. The blade was a flashing silver, and obviously well-made even to her completely inexperienced eyes. “But I don’t know how to use a sword.”

Gandalf shook his head. “Keep it. This is an elven blade. It will glow blue in the presence of orcs or goblins.”

She nodded, and with some help from Ori attached it to her belt. She thought she looked a bit silly in her skirts with a sword hanging from her waist, but apparently the picture was a sweet one to the wizard and the dwarf since their faces were tender and amused when looking at her. Before she could comment further, a rustle sounded from the wood. The dwarves made themselves ready to take on whatever was making the rustling sound. However, they realized they needn’t have worried. 

Out of the brush came an entire team of rabbits pulling a sleigh. The driver of said device had the appearance of an older Man with a brown beard. Upon seeing him Gandalf sighed. “Radagast,” he said in tone that sounded long-suffering, “What are you doing here?”

“Gandalf! I had hoped that was you!” The man toddled off his sleigh, and Belle curled her lip at the appearance of bird droppings in his long brown mane.  
“Company, this is Radagast the Brown. Radagast, meet the Company of Thorin Oakenshield.” 

As Radagast made his salutations, Belle cautiously approached the rabbits. They were gigantic things, brown with little patches of white on the chest. She held out a tentative hand, waiting to see if the rabbits would allow her to touch them. She enjoyed a good coney, but since she was little she had liked bunnies. The creature in the front wrinkled its little nose at her, and she couldn’t check the little chortle of glee when the rabbit butted her hand to be petted. Someone knelt at her side, and she looked up to see Dwalin of all dwarves reaching out to the little things as well. The rabbits seemed a bit more hesitant to accept his touches, but soon one of the little creatures let him pet it.

“I lived next to a rabbit hutch when we stayed in a human town taking work for a year or two,” Dwalin explained softly. “They’re useful little things, much like yourself.”  
Belle blinked at the compliment. She grinned. “Now Dwalin, was that a compliment or an insult?”

“Depends. Do ye like rabbits?”

She laughed as she began scratching another bunny who had come to the fore to be loved on. However, the early morning quiet was shattered by a baleful call that had become all too familiar, and it sounded far too close for comfort. Dwalin and Belle’s head snapped to their left, and all of the rabbits went still. “Wargs,” Dwalin growled. 

“Orcs,” Gandalf stated from behind them. “We must hurry.”

“Hurry where?” Thorin all but snapped. “The ponies are gone and those orcs are sure to be mounted.”

“We can sprint, aye,” Glóin agreed, “But we can’t outrun wargs.”

“You leave that to me!” Radagast called. “My rabbits can outrun anything! These are Rasgobel Rabbits!”

“Thank you, old friend,” Gandalf said. “Now, go! Draw them away from us, and we’ll head for somewhere safe!”

Radagast the Brown nodded, and jumped back on his sleigh. Off he went, whooshing past the dwarves with fire in his eyes and a laugh of challenge. Dwalin grabbed Belle’s arm and pulled her to her feet. The dwarves set off following Gandalf, and the chase was on.

~~  
Tauriel examined the halls of Imladris with a curious eye. The architecture was similar enough to the Forest Realm that she wasn’t terribly uncomfortable as she had been the one time she had visited the famed Círdan the Shipwright in his home upon the sea. It did not help that as a youngish elf, Tauriel had no interest of going into the West. There was still so much here that she hadn’t seen nor done. 

However, Imladris was nice enough, and the young Lady Arwen was a pleasant companion to stroll with. Lord Elrond was also a nice change from the temperamental Thranduil. “Captain of the Guard at such a young age,” Elrond murmured, “I am impressed.”

“Yes,” Tauriel said, “I have enjoyed the favor of King Thranduil for quite some time.”

Elrond looked almost amused by Thranduil’s mention. Out of one of the numerous hallways came another elf. He bowed to Lord Elrond and whispered something to him. Tauriel studiously ignored the words, though she swore she caught the mention of Orcs and wargs. Elrond nodded and then turned with a considering look to her. “Captain Tauriel, would you like to join us on an Orc hunt?”

Her heart began to race in excitement. Tauriel hated Orcs with a fury that had little compare. “I would love to.”

Elrond nodded and swept them down to the armory, with the exception of Arwen. “Hurry back safely, _ada_ ,” she said in parting. 

Entering the armory, the others in the party began to armor up. Tauriel avoided the armor, instead going for more weapons. She wasn’t used to armor since most of the Woodland Guard avoided it if possible. Armor would only slow them down if they were in the trees. The others in the party glanced over at her curiously, and she knew half the problem was her hair. Red was an unusual hair color for elves, and depending on who one asked, meant either she was bad luck or a descendent of Fëanor. Either option was not auspicious in the least. She personally claimed no kinship with the legendary smith of the Silmarils, and she didn’t consider herself ill-luck. She was simply an elf with a rare feature. 

She was more willing to mount the horse they’d provided for her, and kept herself towards the back of the pack. She wasn’t a skilled horse-woman, once again because they rarely needed them in the forest. The Elves of the Last Homely House were more adept, and she didn’t wish to get in their way. As they pounded out of the valley, she heard the cry of a warg. 

The hunt was on.


	6. Matchmakers, Matchmakers, Make Me a Match

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, many thanks for the kudos and comments! They are all very much appreciated! And just to say, I probably won't be updating as regularly/as often as I have been before. I had built up a fair bit of buffer between updates and the actual chapter I was on, so I could pretty much flood you with new chapters relatively quickly, but that is no longer the case. (As well as me becoming Raptor Squad trash . . . Come to think of it Dwarves and Raptors would be an awesome . . . No, I will not go there.)
> 
> But I promise next chapter will feature clueless/socially inept, schmoopy Thorin!

Tilda sighed. “Why won’t Da let us go back out with him?”

Sigrid turned to her sister from where she was busy peeling potatoes for the pot. “You heard what he said, Tilda. It’s too dangerous to go out right now. The Master is more paranoid than usual.”

Tilda huffed, and went back to her mending. Bain looked to his elder sister with a pained look. Both of them were much more aware then little Tilda what that actually meant for their family. The Master was a jealous lord, and a bad one. In the past their family had been tolerated moderately well by the Master’s forbearers, mostly because the children of Girion had fully felt their disgrace. When the refugees of Dale had made their way down to Esgaroth over two hundred years before, the Master had made room for them. The old Master had known that Girion’s eldest son and that son’s wife had been among the homeless, but he had let them be. 

Now was a very different matter. This current Master was a lazy and cruel man who cared only for his own pleasure and gain. The people had begun to discuss amongst themselves the possibility of electing a new Master – and the Bargeman known as Bard was right at the top. Sigrid and Bain knew that it wasn’t because of their father’s blood line – which had been arguably sullied by two hundred years of mingling with the old “commoners” of Dale and Esgaroth – but because Bard was a natural leader. The people looked to him in their times of need, not their apathetic Master. Sigrid personally thought that that was the real reason for the Master’s dislike of their Da. 

Another sigh issued from young Tilda. “I wish that I could see Legolas again,” she murmured dreamily. 

Bain made a disgusted noise in the back of his throat. “Why do you insist on pining after the elf? It’s not like he’d ever stoop to courting a daughter of Men.”

Brown eyes that resembled their mother more than their father narrowed at the boy. “Any more than Lady Tauriel would stoop to looking at a Man!”

When he opened his mouth to continue the argument, Sigrid stepped in. “Neither one of you knows those elves’ hearts. Elves have loved Men before. Now stop it!”

“And what about you Sigrid,” Tilda piped up, “Did Legolas not catch your eye, sister dear?”

Sigrid felt the need to mutter something beneath her breath about nosy little sisters. “I liked his hair, true. I prefer blond hair and blue eyes, but I didn’t like . . .” She trailed off, thinking a moment on how to communicate her feelings. “I didn’t like how cold he seemed. He’s not like Tauriel, who bends a bit after she’s known you. I want someone warm.” She stopped at laughed. “Someone more like Da! Though I doubt I’ll ever find someone. I have no wish to marry Tilda.”

Bain wrinkled his nose. “So you don’t desire to make your own way in the world?”

She leveled a droll look at her younger brother. “And what way would I make? We’re poor Bain, poor as anyone else in this town. All I could hope for is to marry well, maybe have a husband who would let me help him about his business. I couldn’t start my own! You know better than most what the people of Lake-town have always held true about women!”

“ _Women are to bear their husbands sons and help only when needed! Not run about acting like men!”_ the two girls sing-songed together. It was a common diatribe they’d had leveled at them from the poorest fishwife to the Master of the town himself. 

He looked abashed, as if he’d forgotten the fate of the young women of Lake-town. “Well, I think it’s stupid! Women should be able to run their own businesses and choose their own fates! Like the ladies of Dale!”

The girls both smiled at their brother. “Thank you, Bain,” Sigrid whispered at her brother. 

The sweet moment was shattered by a knock on the door. Bain shook his head at Sigrid when she went to rise from her spot by the waste basket. He opened the door with a shuttered look on his face. “Why, good day young Master Bain! Is your father home?” slithered an oily voice from outside the door. 

Tilda stuck out her tongue and Sigrid curled her lip in disgust. “No, Alfrid, Da isn’t home today,” Bain answered shortly. The boy took a step back and made as if to close the door. “Is there anything else you’ll be needing?”

A hand whipped out at clasped the door. Bain started, and was forced back as Alfrid oozed into the room. “Here now, Master Bain, I would like to say good day to your sisters if they are home.” He turned his smarmy smile on the two girls, apparently under the impression that it made him seem charming. “Miss Tilda, Miss Sigrid. Good day to you,” he said grandly.   
Sigrid yearned to ignore the worm, to put him in his place, but instead she gave him a short nod before turning her eyes back to the potatoes she was peeling. “Good day, Alfrid.” Tilda stayed stubbornly quiet. 

She heard footsteps slowly approach, and the scent of unwashed body and a week’s worth of rotting food wafted to her nostrils. “Here now, luv, why not give me a pretty smile. You know, your father makes a lot of trouble for the master and me. The least his pretty daughter can do is make it worth my while.”

She froze, every feminine instinct going on high alert. She’d not had a mother to guide her once she changed from child to young woman, but Sigrid had had plenty of teachers in her father and the women of Esgaroth. She knew without a doubt that Alfrid wouldn’t stop with requesting to see her _smile_. “Your troubles with my father are your own,” she answered. 

There was a grating laugh from above her. “Still, I would see that smile of yours.”

Before Alfrid could touch her, Sigrid was up and out of his reach. “Good day, Alfrid.”

The slimy man looked very angry, but he decided that this particular prey was too much work at the moment. He turned and left, but not without one parting shot. “We’ll discuss that smile another time, Miss Sigrid.”

~~  
The Company cowered behind a rock, the sound of a warg sniffing a loud rumble above them. Kili glanced at his companions, gently drawing his bow with a look to his uncle. Thorin nodded quickly from his position beside Bifur. Silently, he turned and moved from the shadow of the boulder, aiming and firing in one fluid movement. 

Ever since he was young, Kili had been drawn to the bow, pardon the pun. He loved fighting, and was proficient with axe, sword, and mace, but there was something about the flight of the arrow that called to him. He also loved hunting, tracking, finding things others could not. He loved the stone of the mountains like any dwarf, but plop him in a forest and he was just as happy to be there. 

His arrow flew true, but he must have misjudged where he needed to aim, because the warg fell with enough life still left in it to screech at the top of its lungs. The Company surrounded it, bludgeoning warg and rider to death, but the rest of the pack had been alerted. They could hear the screaming of the others as they bore down on their position. “Run!” Thorin cried out. 

They sprinted again, but this time Gandalf led them towards a specific rock. “Here!” he cried. 

Kili knew that he needed to run faster, but he stayed at the back, making sure that he could cover their rear. He turned and fired another arrow, hitting another warg right in the eye, but his moment of inattention to his surroundings costed him. His foot caught on a stone, and he went down hard. He was not injured, his thick muscles and bones only a bit jarred by impact, but he lost precious seconds on the ground. When he finally got back up, it was to find three wargs and riders bearing down on him, and no earthly idea where the Company had gone. 

The youngest prince of Durin’s line nocked another arrow, got ready to fire, but out of nowhere one of the riders fell from his warg as if by magic. His eyes were drawn to a horse and rider coming in from his right. The rider loosed another arrow, then leapt to the ground when the arrow hit warg, but not the Orc clinging to its back. Kili got his first good look at the horse-rider, and his eyes widened. 

The world seemed to slow to a crawl. Red-hair shone in the sun with glints of fire, the strands fluid as a river as they flowed around a face more beautiful than a flawless diamond. Green eyes flashed like emeralds as they fixed on a Orc, narrowing as they seemed to decide the best way to obliterate the other creature. When the maiden struck, she struck hard and fast, her blades flashing bright and deadly in the mid-morning light. Kili felt the world darken a bit at the edges, and then remembered that _he needed to breathe_.

He finally gasped in a breath just as the maiden whirled and threw one of her daggers over his head, and an Orc fell to one side of him, dead with her blade sticking out of his forehead. It was that moment that Kili decided that he might have just found his true love. 

“I seem to remember dwarves being a bit more participatory in battles,” the Valia said with an amused expression on her face. “Instead of standing around and letting elves do all the work.”

That jump started his brain. “Oh, well, when you’re doing such a lovely job on your own, who am I to stand in your way?” His eye registered movement, and without a thought he fired at the Orc that had been creeping up on the pair. “Now we’re even.”  
She gave him a small smile. “I killed two.”

Charmed by her smile, Kili blurted, “Well, that gives me a reason to stay near you now, doesn’t it?”

She laughed, then turned to another rider that had just pounded up, and Kili finally realized that he was surrounded by elves. Furthermore, the Company was not in sight. The lead rider pulled his helm, and Kili was greeted by an elf that was curiously more Manish in appearance. “Tauriel, what have we here?”

“I would say a dwarf by the looks of him,” she answered. “He hasn’t seen fit to introduce himself to me, Lord Elrond.”

“And he need not if he wishes not to!” bellowed someone from behind them. Kili and the elves turned to see the Company come barreling out of a whole in the ground, weapons at the ready. The last out of the hole was Tharkûn and Belle, with the wizard wearing a patient look. 

“Lord Elrond,” he called, “It is good to see you!”

“Mithrandir!” the elf replied, and Kili took a moment to realize that he was referring to Tharkûn, “So this is your party of dwarves we have stumbled upon!”

“Actually,” Tharkûn retorted, “They are the Company of Thorin Oakenshield.” He gestured to Thorin, but Kili could see that this didn’t please his uncle one bit. 

Thorin stepped forward and gave a barely civil nod. “Thank you,” he muttered as if the words stuck in his throat, “For coming to our aid.”

“It was nothing,” Elrond murmured in reply. “Orcs are a bane to all creatures.”

“Yes they are,” Thorin agreed, and Kili knew he wasn’t the only one that was surprised at how his uncle stooped to do even that! 

“Rivendell is close,” Tharkûn said gaily, “Could we impose upon you to help us restock and rest?”

The elf called Elrond said something that sounded grand yet strange, for he spoke in the elven tongue and not one of the dwarves apparently spoke it because all of them bristled once again. “What did he say?!” Dwalin all but bellowed. 

Tharkûn rolled his eyes dramatically. “Eru beyond the heavens, _save me from dwarves!_ All he offered was shelter and food to help us upon our journey!”

“Oh,” Dwalin murmured. “Well, it sounded like he was going to do something else.”

Belle giggled merrily, drawing the eyes of the elves. Kili’s beauty looked curious, but the others in the party looked utterly delighted. “It has been far too long for you to be her,” Elrond said with a smile, “So you must be a relation to Belladonna Took of the Shire, if I am not mistaken.”

Belle clapped her hands gaily. “And you must be Lord Elrond Halfelven! My mother was Belladonna Took. I am Belladonna Rose Baggins, at the service of you and your family.”

“Arwen will be pleased,” Elrond replied, “She was quite fond of Belladonna. And I hear from your name that Mr. Bungo Baggins must have won her hand.”

“He did!”

Elrond looked back to his men. “Come, we will give you all a ride to Rivendell.”

The other dwarves looked like they were about to go apoplectic, but Belle walked right up to Elrond’s horse. “Thank you! I fear all this running over the ground has scraped my feet.”

Elrond reached down and hoisted her up gently, setting her before him on his horse. Tharkûn followed, mounting behind another of Elrond’s men. The other dwarves grumbled, but approached each horse and was hoisted up. Kili waited until everyone else was settled, and went to the fiery maiden. “It would seem that you and I are the only ones left.”

“No,” she replied with a twinkling eye and arch look, “It would seem not.” She leaned down to the other side of her steed, and who did she pull up but his uncle. Thorin glared at her, glared at his nephew, and then glared at her again. 

He pointed to another male elf in shining armor. “He’s free, Kili.”

The entire way to Rivendell, Kili watched his uncle wistfully, jealous of where his uncle got to put his hands.  
~~  
Rivendell was just as beautiful as her mother had told her. Belle took in everything, twisting one way and another to examine everything. The buildings were built into the stone of the mountain side, with balconies that made the absolute best of the view, and some that were spectacularly worked into the waterfalls of the Last Homely House. The reoccurring design motifs included trees and plants that spoke to her hobbit soul like nothing else. She could feel Elrond’s silent amusement rumbling in the elf’s chest, and she turned a bright smile to him. “This is even grander than I imagined!”

From his perch on the horse of the red-haired elf maid, Thorin threw them a dirty look. Belle didn’t know why he was so prejudiced against the elves and Elrond, especially when Elrond was offering to help them on their quest. Food and shelter for the night would go a long way towards building morale and getting them back on the right track. As they clip-clopped into the courtyard of Elrond’s home, another elf-maid came out to greet them. “Ada!” she called, and then her eyes lit on Belle. “Ada, you brought home a hobbit!”

Belle heard Bofur dwarf-whisper to his escort, “You lot really like hobbits, don’t you?”

“They are better company than others I could name,” the escort replied with a completely straight face. Bofur looked a bit disgruntled at the reply. 

Elrond pulled up to his daughter, and dismounted with the innate grace of elves. He helped Belle down, lifting her by her waist and setting her gently a little bit away from the horse. “Arwen, this is Belladonna Rose Baggins, our old friend Bella’s daughter.”

Arwen was beautiful like any of her race with long, brown hair that fell in gentle waves not unlike her father’s. Sparkling green eyes grinned at the little hobbit. “It is a pleasure,” she murmured, giving the hobbit a nod. 

Belle returned the gesture and then glanced back at the dwarves. Bifur had already scrambled down from his perch and taken up his now usual spot at Belle’s back. He didn’t glare at Arwen and Elrond like the others did, but Belle could still see the line of tense awareness in his body. Thorin joined the little group, and Belle realized that even though they hadn’t surrounded her, the dwarves were making sure that should anyone reach for her, a dwarf would be between them. 

The lord of Rivendell nodded to the king-in-exile. “This is Thorin Oakenshield and his Company. Thorin, my daughter Arwen.”

Again, Thorin surprised his fellow dwarves by nodding civilly. He didn’t respond verbally, but out the corner of her eye, Belle could see Gandalf breathe what looked like a sigh of relief. She made a mental note to ask about why Thorin had such a hatred of elves. Well, other than the usual dwarvish reasons for hating anything. 

Arwen’s smile didn’t waver. “Well met, Master Thorin. I hope our house serves you well.”

“Come, I’m sure you would like to rest a bit before dinner,” Elrond said to the Company. “I also would like a word with you, Mithrandir.”

“Of course,” Gandalf said gaily. 

Arwen turned back to Belle. “I’ll take you to the ladies baths.”

Bifur made a sound of protest, but the hobbit turned and shushed her new father. “It’s alright,” she signed. “They can be trusted.”

The look he gave them would have curdled milk. “How can you be so sure?”

“These elves were well-spoken of by my mother,” she explained with a bit of bit to her voice. “Why you dwarves wish to hate elves with such a passion is beyond me, but rest assured that Lady Arwen would never harm me in any way!”

The lady elf in question did not look offended. “It is alright Belladonna Rose. Dwarves and elves have long had a bit of animosity between the races. Their attitude does not surprise me in the least.”

Belle shook her head. “It is still disgraceful to be so hostile to people who would show you nothing but kindness.”

Bifur had the grace to look a least a little shamed. “I will hunt you down if you are not at dinner.”

Realizing that this was the best she was going to get, Belle simply nodded in reply.   
~~  
Elrond watched the little scene playing out with a slight smile on his face. As Arwen and Belle trotted off to the women’s baths he nodded to one of his attendants. “If you will follow me,” the other elf said softly, gesturing for the dwarves to follow. 

The Elf Lord waited until the dwarves were out of ear shot before he turned to Mithrandir. “So, you would turn your attention to the Lonely Mountain.”

“We must stop that dragon,” Mithrandir answered, his grave voice hard and decisive. 

Elrond had no wish to disagree, but he felt the need to warn his old friend. “The White Council is here, and will meet after the moon rises tonight.”

A long suffering sigh came from Mithrandir. “Saruman will not take my interference with the dwarves lightly. But we cannot let the dragon reign any longer under that mountain!”

“I agree, and further more, I have had visions of late that I wish to relate to you,” Elrond explained. “I have had troubling dreams, and have been visited by the Valar.”

“Truly?” Mithrandir breathed. “Tell me.”

The elf lord motioned for the wizard to follow him to a more secluded spot deep in his personal gardens. No elf would dare follow him here. The flowers were a heady backdrop to the two banks of benches that Elrond motioned for Mithrandir to inhabit. “I have had a reocccuring dream for some time now, urging me to help three women become the Ladies of the Lonely Mountain,” Elrond began, “One of them I recognized as a member of Thranduil’s realm. She struck me the first time I saw her because of her hair.”

Mithrandir nodded. “The red-haired maiden. She is striking. Silvan is she?”

“Yes, and though I know that it means she cannot be one of Feanör’s get, it still gives many of the Eldar pause. Hair of a true red is so very rare amongst our kind it cannot be helped but be noticed.”

“I know,” the wizard agreed. “But who else did you see in your vision?” Mithrandir appeared truly curious, and Elrond smiled a bit. 

“I saw a daughter of Men, a girl with sandy brown hair and a sweet smile. II have no knowledge of her, but I feel that she will find your party in some way. There was also a woman I have never seen before, and whose race I can only guess at. The last, well, it was Belle Baggins.”

There was a long, pregnant silence. “Belle.”

“Yes. I was told to ensure that a hobbit lass of good family took the crown of Erebor. A rose must rule under the mountain beside a king.” The elf lord snorted. “I have never heard the like, and though I know that at one time hobbits and dwarves were rather fond of one another, that was an age ago. Literally.”

MIthrandir’s eyes had taken on a particular gleam. “It would be no hardship to Thorin Oakenshield. I have noticed that he has a slight regard for Belle. Enough for him to fall in love with her, perhaps.”

“I would second that,” came a voice from behind Elrond. 

With a start, the elf lord whirled to find one of his dwarven guests standing behind him. IT was the grey-haired dwarf that looked to be rather bookish for a dwarrow. His twinkling eyes met Elrond’s and he bowed. “I apologize for the intrusion, but I couldn’t help but overhear a bit of what was said before you left the first hall. I had been returning to ask something of Mithrandir, but got caught up in your conversation. Forgive me.”

A thought flitted across Elrond’s mind. The dreams sent by Lórien had not told him that he couldn’t enlist another’s help. “I would forgive you if I knew your name, sir dwarf.”

“Such pretty manners for an elf,” the dwarf replied. “I am Balin, son of Fundin.”

Mithrandir looked a bit amused when he nodded to Balin. “He can be trusted Elrond. Balin is loyal to his king, within reason.”

Elrond interpreted that to mean that Balin could be convinced to keep secrets if they were in his ruler’s best interests. “Well then, please join us Balin.”

He continued once the dwarrow had taken his seat across from the other two. “I feel that I should back up and tell you why Belle becoming queen of Erebor is so important. According to the visions I received, if we can place a hobbit as queen, a human as Crown Princess, and an elf maiden as Princess Royal, as well as finding the fourth member of the party, we can bring down Sauron for once and for all.”

The other two were silent for a moment before the dwarf said slowly, “You mean to tell me that all three of Durin’s heirs must marry outside of their race in order to bring down Sauron.”

“Yes,” the elf lord said. “I know that this is unpalatable to you, but the greater-“

“Hang and confound dwarven custom!” Balin snapped. “This is Thorin, Fíli, and Kíli you speak of! I’ll not be shackling them to Belle and a couple of random wenches just for the purposes of defeating some Dark Lord that should have been taken care of centuries ago!”

The lord of Rivendell found himself blinking owlishly at the manner that he was being addressed in. “I was shown very specific women. I think that once your king and his heirs met and meet them, well, the matches won’t be forced at all.”

“And come now, Balin,” Mithrandir piped up, “You have noticed how Thorin acts about Belle. Even when he’s giving her a glare of disapproval, he isn’t his usual surly self. By the Father of All Things, _he’s flirted with her._ ”

“This is true,” Balin said. He turned to Elrond. “And that red-head she-elf. She’s caught Kíli’s eye. I saw him giving her doe eyes on the way back here.” He stopped, a look of contemplation on his face. “That leaves Fíli and the girl.”

“Unfortunately, I have never met her, so I am not sure who she is,” Elrond said. “I would dearly love to know. We must ensure that they at least meet.”

Mithrandir nodded, and then gestured to Balin. “In that case, it is most auspicious that you let curiosity and protectiveness guide you. I’m afraid that I cannot always be with the Company, but when I am not, you can. You can help ensure that they at least have a chance.”

Balin nodded, but a thought occurred to the old dwarf. “However, Master Elrond has a point about the marriage customs of dwarves. The Company wouldn’t bat an eyelash at Belle, but the human girl and the elf might be a bit more trouble for even them to take. Further, the other lords of our people would probably not take too kindly to Belle either. Thorin, Fíli, and Kíli are expected to marry respectable dwarrowdams to further the line of Durin.”

Mithrandir cocked his head, and squinted at something in the gate of the garden. He didn’t say anything for a moment, but then turned to Elrond. “Your libraries are vast, are they not?”

The elven lord made a sound of agreement. “You think the solution will be there?”

“Find out what you can of hobbits,” the wizard said with a small smile. “Not much is known of their history. Perhaps there we can find the answer to our dilemmas.”

Balin nodded in agreement. “And meanwhile, Mithrandir and I shall ensure that Thorin doesn’t run off either of the two ladies.”

“Yes,” Mithrandir said with a heavy sigh, “I fear between his utter incompetence when it comes to females on top of his deep seated prejudice against elves, he’ll send both Belle and Tauriel running the other way.”

“Tauriel,” Balin murmured, stroking his beard. “I grant that it is a pretty name.”

Elrond felt his left eyebrow climb almost to his hairline. Thorin was not isolated in his distrust and prejudice of elves. Dwarves and elves had been prone to dislike each other almost from the beginning. It was not lost on the Lord of Rivendell that Balin was already trying to acclimate himself to having an elf as an intimate member of his life. Kíli was obviously dear enough to him that he would lay aside his own grievances to give the elf maid a chance. This lit a small flame of respect in Elrond’s breast for the dwarf gone grey. “Pretty enough for a princess of Erebor?” Elrond bantered gently. 

The dwarf’s answering smile was just as gentle and soft. “Oh, more than pretty enough.”  
~~  
As the three left the private gardens of Elrond, neither the elf nor the dwarf noticed Gandalf hang back and smile at a patch of grass that the other two had mysteriously known to avoid. “I hope what you say is true Lady Yavanna.”

The Green Lady grinned. “I have held the book myself, just to make sure that it still existed. Advise Elrond to send back to Buckland for a young lady by the name of Primula Brandybuck. She reads the old Hobbit tongue and will be able to translate it for you. Also, do not hesitate to ask Thorondor for his help. The King of Eagles has just as much cause as any of us to hate Sauron.”

The wizard Maiar nodded. “I will. Is it the Valar who knew to send to Elrond?”

“I would assume that Irmo sent Elrond the vision,” she answered, her golden ringlets falling about her face. “Do not worry, Olórin. We will stop him for once and for all.”

She turned as if to leave the garden, but stopped. She looked back at him. “Be cautious of the Greenwood. Irmo says that he feels the essence of Sauron near there.”

“Radagast told me earlier today of it,” Gandalf answered. “The White Council should meet –“

“You and Elrond must not tell them of the importance of the Quest for Erebor.”

Both Yavanna and Gandalf turned to see Nienna striding forth. The lady of mercy looked grim, but not in her usual way. “Do not tell the White Council a thing about the Ravens and their Roses. The fewer who know the better.”

“Why?” Yavanna asked her sister. “How would that be undesirable?”

“Saruman and the others have no need to know.” Nienna turned her hard face to the wizard. “I feel a a loss of hope in Saruman that concerns me gravely. I make no assumptions about him just yet, but I will not have this chance jeopardized by thoughtless trust.”

“But Saruman has led the White Council for years!” Yavanna gasped. 

“And under his leadership what has happened?” Nienna retorted. “Sauron’s power grows in the Greenwood so that now everyone calls it Mirkwood. Mountain trolls ramble down to feed upon travelers and peaceful old farmers.”

The wizard visibly flinched at Nienna’s words. “I see some truth in your words, even though I cannot believe such of Saruman. But why trust Elrond and I if you trust so few?”

The Lady of Mercy gave him one of her heartbreaking smiles. “Dearest Olórin. Of any being that is not Valar, you are the one I would trust most. You have been one of my chosen companions for more years than I can count.” She cupped his face, her smile still soft and sweet. “You see the world at its most beautiful – and that is why I believe that Melkor and Sauron will never be able to break your spirit or turn you to their purposes. You see the truth of the people you meet, both good and bad, and love them for all of their flaws. I look at you and see such _hope_ that it makes my heart swell and lift. You give me courage in dark times, Olórin, just as your dear hobbits give courage to you.”

Yavanna smiled at the two of them. “Olórin, Nienna, we will keep this among us, and no others. Elrond and Balin can be trusted, I do believe, and we will tell Irmo and Aulë to keep it known only to us.” She laughed merrily. “We can all be secret matchmakers together!”  
~~  
It was only later that night, after the revels and the reveals were over that the four Valar stood in Elrond’s garden and faced once another again. Irmo was staring at the two ladies with an expression akin to horror. 

“But I have sent no visions to Elrond.”


	7. A Blonde, A Brunette, and A Redhead

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, time line shenanigans are now part of this AU. D: When I first wrote the chapter I 1) forgot that Aragorn was a kid at this time, and 2) honestly did not know that Celebrian ever went into the West before Elrond. I thought she was just a minor/glossed over character in the movies. (You know, the same way I didn't know that Celeborn was still around Lóthlorien either?)
> 
> Needless to say, I said, the heck with it, Celebrian never left and Aragorn is older than canon.

Tauriel felt a bit out of place as she sat with the Lady Arwen and little Belle Baggins in the women’s baths. She was still not entirely sure why she’d been summoned here in the first place, but her consciousness of the personages she was dealing with helped stay her tongue. Elrond was a High Elf of great stature, far outshining her own Lord Thranduil, though her king would be loathe to admit it. Who knew what kind of wild hair Elrond had that made him call upon her. Perhaps it was the tales of her strange hair?

“So, you are not of Rivendell?” asked the little halfling. Tauriel focused back on what she was doing, and examined the tiny woman. She was smaller than even dwarven women, but her body’s curves proclaimed her just as mature as either of the elven maidens that she shared the communal baths with. Even damp, her hair tried to curl wildly about her head, the golden brown strands stuck to her shoulders like a mantle. 

“No,” Tauriel answered. “I am of the Greenwood.”

Belle nodded. “Oh! I have read stories of the Greenwood! Is it true that your king once fought a dragon?”

The elf maid nodded. “Yes, King Thranduil participated in a battle with a drake.”

Belle was quiet for a moment. “Interesting,” was all she said, but Tauriel thought she saw some secret slide across the halfling’s eyes. 

Arwen asked, “Why are you traveling with the dwarves?”

“Oh! I’m out to see the world on an adventure!” Belle answered brightly, her whole face lighting up. “Gandalf asked me if I would like to go along, and well, I did!”

The dark-haired elf cast a speaking look to Tauriel. There was more to this story than that, both she-elves knew. “So, tell us, what adventures have you been on so far?”

The little woman wrinkled her nose in a manner that strongly reminded Tauriel of rabbits. “Well, my first adventures were learning how to properly saddle ponies and bake with a campfire. Oh! But I must tell you about the trolls! . . .”

Both elven women listened raptly as she told them her tale of being capture by trolls, her haphazard plot to foil them, and then her final salvation at the hands of her dwarven companions. Arwen made a moue as she handed Belle the hair soap. “That sounds absolutely ghastly.”

Belle sniffed the soap and sighed. “Rose. I love rose.”

Arwen offered it to Tauriel and the Woodland elf took a sniff of her own. It smelled terribly expensive, like the lotions and perfumes that the ladies of the court would wear, not something for a hard working Guard Captain. She nearly refused it, but decided that she should enjoy the hospitality of Imladris while she was here. “Thank you.”

The three women went about their hair washing with due diligence. Tauriel had marveled at the baths, sure that she’d never seen anything so lovely. Rivendell elves apparently took their bathing quite seriously, since there were actually three separate areas with different tubs. The first area was constructed with each of the six tubs arranged so that they formed the petals of a flower. Each tub had a bench that the bather sat on to clean her skin using the array of soaps available for that purpose. After a final rinse standing upon the fine grate that made the floor between each tub, an arch led to the second area, where Tauriel and her companions now sat, that held tubs meant for the washing of hair. The tubs were again connected by a grate that allowed one to rinse her hair outside of the tub. The bottom of the tubs also contained sand that could be used to further clean and smooth the skin. 

After they were done washing their hair, the three ladies rose from their respective tubs and visited the last area. This time the grate was raised up to the level of the tubs, and a set of stairs actually led up to it. Passing over the grate, Tauriel could feel the rush of warm air on the soles of her feet. Sitting down in her own petal, she watched Arwen lay back and spread her hair over the grate beside her tub as she laid down on the bench. Belle looked just as confused as Tauriel felt, but Arwen laughed a bit upon seeing them. “The air is from the furnaces that heat the water for the rest of the baths. Lay your hair over it, and it will help your hair dry.”

Belle smiled. “Oh, like letting it dry before the fire!”

Tauriel nodded. “I see,” she said with a tentative smile to the halfling. She imitated Arwen, and found herself now facing an artfully painted ceiling showing a soothing forest scene. The three ladies were silent for a moment. 

“So,” Belle began, “Why are you here Tauriel?”

“I’m not quite sure,” she answered tentatively. “I’m not sure why Lord Elrond sent for me.”

“Ada does have strange ways sometimes,” Arwen piped up, “But he rarely does anything without a very compelling reason.”

Tauriel nodded, but something nagged at her. “I find it interesting that I arrived only a day before your party Belle.”

The hobbit’s little face took on a surprised look that morphed into an almost guilty look. “I can’t imagine why that would be,” she muttered.

The red-headed elf maiden chuckled. “Belle, I’m well aware that there is more to your adventure than you’re willing to tell, but I’m not trying to pry. I merely find the coincidence intriguing.”

“Like that dark-haired dwarf that was riding your steed?” Arwen teased gently.

A startled laugh sounded from Tauriel’s throat. “Oh no! Thorin Oakenshield does nothing to catch my attention.” She licked her lips before continuing. “Now, the younger, dark-haired archer, he is . . . taller than most dwarves.”

Belle let out a shout of laughter. “Poor, poor Kili! First the ladies of my town and now the elven maids!”

“Well, I quite liked Thorin Oakenshield,” Arwen murmured. “He reminds me of . . .”

Tauriel raised her head to look at the other elf-maid. “He reminds you of who?”

“A Man that has long held my heart,” the daughter of Elrond answered baldly. “His name is Strider.”

Belle giggled. “Well, I am intrigued with Thorin the way you two speak of.”

Both elves turned their gaze to the hobbitess with equal astonishment and delight. “I wish you luck with that one,” Arwen said. “If he truly is anything like my Strider he will be stubborn, far to honor bound, and in general far too serious by half.”

The Silvan elf said nothing as she just smiled. The maids finished their baths with the conversation turning again to their different lives. Arwen proved to be engaging and sweet, completely unlike the higher born ladies of Thranduil’s court. Belle was entertaining with he wit and bluntness, and Tauriel managed to forget her circumstances up until they were ensconced in Arwen’s rooms getting dressed for dinner.

She stared down at her garb, usually so appropriate and lovely. The green and brown tunic and jacket were embroidered with good linen thread with vines and leaves. Her trousers matched the tops, and her boots were simply her usual boots. Out of the corner of her eye, she spied both Belle and Arwen holding up fine dresses full of colorful embroidery. 

As if she could feel Tauriel’s regard, Arwen glanced up at her. “Are those your formal wear? They’re lovely.”  
A small smile was her reply. “Yes, but I can’t help but feel a bit underdressed in present company.”

The loveliest elf of her generation nodded. “I can understand. You are like the lady Dúnedain. For hunting and battle, trews are good enough, but a party deserves a pretty gown!” A calculating look entered her eye. “You are a bit taller than I, but we look to be of a size.”

As soon as Tauriel caught on to what she was saying, a protest burst from her. “Oh no! No! I wasn’t trying to ask –“

“No, you weren’t, but I’m offering.” Arwen went to her wardrobe and pulled several different gowns from it. 

Belle had finished putting on her own gown and was smiling up at Tauriel. “Mistress of the Woodland Realm, if I was as tall as you I would offer my clothing as well! What is a shared gown between friends?”

For the first time all afternoon, Tauriel realized that this was probably the longest time she’d spent in exclusively female company in centuries. Ever since she became a guard, she had grown used to being around mostly men. Silvan maids didn’t often ride into battle, so Tauriel and the seven other maids in the Guard were outnumbered by their male counterparts. 

“Friends?” she murmured with an uncertain look to Arwen. 

“Of course!” the dark-haired elf said with a huge smile. 

A moment more of uncertainty dogged Tauriel’s heels. “And you don’t care that I have red hair?”

Arwen laughed. “Your hair is beautiful.”

No one had ever said that to Tauriel in her entire life. Her mother had exclaimed over her daughter’s face, and she had a very vague recollection of her father calling her his pretty girl, but neither one had ever called her hair beautiful. More often than not her hair was seen as something not beautiful. “Thank you,” she said, tears a serious threat. 

Belle glanced from one to the other, before piping up. “You really do have lovely hair Tauriel. I don’t know why you’re so concerned about it.”

“Red hair is considered unlucky to elves,” Arwen explained. 

“Oh!” Belle looked up at Tauriel with knew understanding. “Well then, I still agree with Arwen. It’s lovely hair.”

“Thank you,” Tauriel said softly. “Thank you.”  
~~  
Thorin was still in a sour mood by the time the Company once again assembled for dinner. It was nice being clean again, and privately Thorin would admit to thinking that the elves had possibly some of the best baths he’d ever had the pleasure of using. However, he was still unhappy to be staying in this bosom of Elvishness to the point of grating irritation every time he saw pointed ears. There was a part of him that was well aware that he couldn’t mistrust all elves just because of the actions of one, but the primal, emotional part of him said, that yes, yes he could blame them all. 

It did not help that he was one of the few dwarves that was aware of the meal that was coming. Back when he’d been a young prince without a care in the world, he’d been training in politics, and that had included trips to some of the nearby kingdoms. He had actually been to Rivendell before, one memorable time. Memorable because it was the only week in his entire existence that he’d not had a traditional dwarven diet. After the third day he’d understood why his grandfather had advised him to hoard a pound or two of jerky. Instead of the mutton, pork, nuts, berries, and tubers he was used to, he was fed nothing but leafy greens, vegetables, and tree fruits, with only the occasional dish of fish or fowl to add much desired meat to his plate.  
With the exceptions of Balin and Dwalin, the rest of the Company was in for a possibly unpleasant surprise. 

The stewards seated the party as low tables, while Thorin was led to eat at the same table as Elrond and Gandalf. The wizard and the elf broke off a conversation they’d been having in one of the myriad elvish tongues, and both greeted him jovially. “I would go ahead and serve you and your Company,” Elrond said with a note of apology in his voice, “But the ladies have not yet returned.”

Thorin snorted. “It seems that ladies are all the same no matter the race. Fashionably late.”

Elrond’s eyebrows shot straight into his hairline, and the tiny part of Thorin that was still a hell-raising prince wondered what kind of muscles it took to have that great of flexibility with one’s brows. “Yes, you may be right,” Tharkûn chortled. 

As if right on cue, a feminine laugh wafted from one of the corridors that led to the outdoor dining area. Out of the recesses of the building stepped three visions of beauty. Thorin would normally have tried his best to keep his expression neutral, but he was well aware that not a one of his Company was looking anywhere near him. All twelve of his dwarves were focused intently on the pretty little hobbit lass, who dressed in a proper gown of velvet and her hair shot through with ribbons of complementary colors shone like the Arkenstone. 

(Or at least he thought that all twelve of his Company were focused just as he was. Kili was staring slack-jawed just to Belle’s left, and slightly up.)

Belle was dressed unknowingly in the colors of Durin’s line with a bodice of dark blue embroidered with shining white thread. Vines and roses snaked along the neckline, and whether this was the intent or not, Thorin found his gaze continuing to return to the column of her neck, wondering what it would look like wreathed in sapphire and diamond. The skirts were also blue, and fell around her feet. White roses brushed over the curly hair on the tops of her feet, but her arms were bare. Again, he wondered whether silver or gold would suit this outfit more. Her curly brown hair fell long, and he decided upon watching the white and blue ribbons flutter as she walked that gold would suit her best. Or perhaps even rose gold, appropriately enough. Most dwarves looked down on the alloy of copper, silver, and gold, but he thought that Belle could pull it off. 

As she floated towards him with her two elven companions, Thorin glanced around wildly. She was coming towards his table, bypassing the lower tables. She was in the company of Elrond’s daughter so she must be sitting at high table. Suddenly, his mind blanked and then kick started. _Seat the pretty lady, seat the pretty lady, seattheladyseattheladyseatthelady_ -

He finally was pulled from his thoughts of how to seat the hobbit lass when she was standing in front of him with a strange look on her face. He realized that the rest of the Company was also looking at him oddly, and out of the corner of his eye he could see Tharkûn shaking in silent laughter while Elrond nodded to a steward with a long suffering look on his face. Finally he took stock of himself. He was standing where a moment before he could have sworn that he’d been sitting, and there was currently no table in front of him where before he’d been seated right in front of one. 

With a sinking feeling of humiliation beginning to bubble in his gut, he glanced down. The lovely table he’d been sitting at – he disliked elves, but he would admit that they were truly excellent carpenters – was overturned, and plates of food had splattered everywhere. In a flash, his mind replayed the second he’d seen the hobbit lass floating out of the hallway right down to him _standing so abruptly that the table went flying_. In his panic to act the gentleman he’d ended up making a complete ass of himself. 

Perfect. 

He stared down at her for another long second before nodding. “You look very pretty tonight Mistress Baggins.”

She bit her lip and then looked down at the table. “It’s not the table’s fault that you think I’m pretty.”

Suddenly, humiliation turned to irritation. “And it’s not my fault that the table was there when I stood to seat you.”

Suddenly a giggle burst from the dark-haired elf maiden. The hobbitess sent the elf a look before turning her attention back to Thorin. “And there is the kingly arrogance.” She threw out an arm. “Lord of all you survey right down to poor tables who can’t get out of your way when you’re being a prat.”

“You might refrain from painting me a fool in the presence of our host and my Company,” he retorted through gritted teeth.

“Of course, especially when you’re already doing such a great job of that on your own,” she replied. A bark of laughter sounded from the lower tables. 

With a scowl, Thorin held out his hand. Blinking in a bit of confusion, she put her hand in his, and he led her to her seat with all the courtly grace he possessed, even while having to step over spilled greens. The two elf maidens also sat, their faces wreathed in amusement. When he finally sat down, Elrond on his left, Belle to his right, he fixed a glare on his Company who were all busy rolling on the floor and banging on the table in laughter.

~~  
Belle couldn’t help but replay the scene over and over in her head. It was gratifying to be the cynosure of all eyes, but she would have preferred it not end with so much food covering the ground. As the elven stewards were resetting the table, she covertly glanced over at Thorin. His face was still grim, and he was obviously still annoyed by his Company’s laughter, but she couldn’t get the look on his face when he’d first seen her out of her mind. 

Stunned. He’d been completely stunned. 

Thinking back, she realized that he’d never seen her in her party clothes before. A small grin twitched over her mouth as she brought a lock of hair over her shoulder to play with. Belle nervously played with it for a bit, twirling it around her fingers like she’d done as a child. She looked over to Arwen and Tauriel, both elven maidens chatting in Sindarin. They kept throwing glances down at Kíli, and Belle guessed they were discussing the merits of dwarven males versus elven males. 

“Your dress is quite nice,” a deep voice rumbled from her left. 

She whipped her head around, and smiled a little bit. “Uh, thank you.” She cocked her head and continued to worry the little lock of hair. “I made this dress for last year’s Solstice Festival. I embroidered the ribbons to match.”

“Lovely work,” Thorin said with honesty. He still seemed a trifle awkward, as if he were trotting out social skills he never used – imagine that! 

Belle grinned. “I do like embroidery, but I do so love poetry! Perhaps we’ll be here long enough for me to take a look at Lord Elrond’s library?”

“Perhaps. We may stay a few days to restock and rest.” Thorin took that moment to look out over the feasting dwarves, most of whom looked horrendously appalled. “Poor dwarrow. Didn’t even know what was coming.”

She furrowed her brows. “What?”

He gestured to the meal. “This.”

Belle examined the table. There was a heaping bowl of salad with tomatoes, olives, and goat cheese, and next to that was a plate of fried potatoes. A bowl of lentil soup was also served to each person, and dinner rolls sat heaped in the middle of the table. FFilling in every available gap were plates full of chopped vegetables and fruits for each diner to sample at will. “It seems like a perfectly good dinner.”

“Yes, yes, but what does it lack Mistress Burglar?”

That was when it hit her,and Belle couldn’t help but giggle a bit. “Oh, oh, you poor things. Not one ounce of meat.”

“I too,” Tauriel piped up, “Feel its loss.”

Thorin stiffened, but turned his head to the red-headed elf. “Really?”

She nodded. “Fresh greens such as these do not grow well in the middle of the Greenwood. The upper echelons may eat a completely vegetarian diet, but most of us lower elves have a taste for venison and rabbit.”

Belle ate a bite of her soup. The flavor burst over her tongue, and she groaned in delight. “Well, I do hope you all at least enjoy what you have in front of you, because it’s delicious!”

Elrond and Gandalf had stopped conferring among themselves to listen to the conversation. “Yes, we do not serve meat here,” Elrond said, “But our dishes do not lack for it.”

Thorin took a bite of salad and nodded, even though he looked mildly put out over it. Down at the lower tables his Company looked positively murderous, but a stern look from him kept their most vocal objections quiet. Belle smiled at them, and didn’t see Balin nudge his brother. “Don’t the pair of them look rather cozy,” the elder sibling murmured to the younger. 

Dwalin finished off his bowl of soup with a slurp. “Yes they do.” He cast a jaundiced eye to his brother. “What of it? You think Thorin’s getting too attached?”

“I’m rather hoping for it. Belle’s the first female of any race he’s shown interest in. He flirts with her, for the love of Mahal!”

“And what, you want _her_ to be Consort Under the Mountain?” Dwalin whispered with a laugh. He glanced up, hoping that none of the others were listening closely. They were getting into thorny territory. “She’s not a dwarf!”

“I _know_ that!” Balin shot back. “But that lad has been through so much pain and misery for his people, and if a hobbit lass makes him happy, then a hobbit lass should be his bride!”

Dwalin looked taken aback for a moment, but then a considering look entered his eyes. “Well, didn’t she say she was the niece of the hobbits’ main chieftain? What’d she call it . . . Thain?”

“Yes,” Balin said, happy that his plan was already working. “She could be considered of equivalent blood to Fíli or Kíli.”

“You know it will be hell to get the Dwarf Lords on board. They’re going to want Thorin marrying a good dwarrowdam and having little dwarf babies.”

“Well,” Balin said, “We’re just going to have to figure out a way to convince them that Thorin deserves to choose his mate regardless of her race. He has done nothing but care for his people. It’s high time his people cared for him.”

Back at the high table, Belle tucked into her food with pleasure. The greens were delicious and the soup wasn’t too salty. She was half tempted to ask for the recipe for these lentils. She smiled as she plucked a sprig of grapes to place on her plate. Thorin had been drawn into a discussion with Gandalf and Elrond, so she turned her attention to Arwen and Tauriel. In rusty Sindarin she asked, “What has you two cackling like hens over here?”

Arwen’s eyes flashed with glee. “Just discussing a certain tall dwarf.”

Tauriel colored a bit. “I said that one time.”

“Yes, but you meant it.”

Belle laughed. “Have you spoken to Kili?” The three ladies gave the brunet dwarf a look as he was tucking into his salad. “He’s quite the sweetheart.”

“Really?” Tauriel asked with a skeptical brow. “His first response to me was to throw around innuendoes.”

“Well, he is a scamp too, but a well meaning one,” Belle said with a laugh. “I didn’t mention anything about him being a saint!”

The three women laughed together, and Belle took another bite of the delicious lentil soup. Arwen had a twinkle in her eye. “Look! There’s Estel!” She had switched back to Westron. 

“Who?” Tauriel and Belle asked in unison, following her lead. 

Arwen’s laugh was a peal of bells. “I’m so sorry! Strider, there’s Strider! His name here is Estel!”

Belle examined the Man curiously. Arwen had been right earlier when she said that he was reminiscent of Thorin. Both were dark-haired and tan of skin, but Strider had dark intense eyes where Thorin’s were piercing in their crystalline color. But this Strider also had Thorin’s air of unconscious command, and Belle would bet that there was no way to ignore that Man once you caught sight of him. She was aware that he would always be on the periphery of her attention now. “He does remind me of Thorin.”

Arwen nodded and then glanced to her father. “Ada, may we ask Strider to join us?”

Elrond looked less than pleased by her request, but nodded all the same. He waved over a steward that jumped to his bidding. A chair was brought next to Arwen, and Strider came to the table tentatively. He was polite and reserved, and up close, Belle realized that he had a strangely calming air about him. Arwen was quick to introduce him, and he immediately won Belle’s esteem when he complimented Tauriel’s very pretty hair. Then he further charmed her by giving her a big smile. “Ah! A Lady of the Shire!”

Belle laughed. “Why thank you! I wouldn’t go that far!”

Tauriel shook her head. “Why is everyone here charmed by hobbits? No offense meant Belle, but I had barely heard of your kind before today, and yet it seems like every person in Rivendell and every dwarf in your party are utterly smitten by you.”

The hobbit lass felt a blush creep up her cheeks like fire. “Well, I really couldn’t tell you. I mean, I could give you a guess, and that is that hobbits are naturally so pleasant. We’re terrible busybodies, and overly concerned with familial lines, but we as a rule are only greedy when it comes to our food. We do not generally covet gold, or wish to go to war, or dream of conquering kingdoms. Leave us our farms and our families and we are happy creatures indeed.”

“And that is why we are so smitten as you say, Mistress Tauriel,” Gandalf put in, his Sindarin flawless next to Belle’s barely fluent stumbling. He said again in Westron at Thorin’s dark look. “Hobbits are creatures of home and hearth, and they give the races of Men and Elves a reason to think outside of themselves. And perhaps now, give the Dwarves a reason as well.”

Thorin looked thoughtful, but did not confirm nor deny this. 

~~  
The rest of dinner was spent in genial conversation. Thorin did not join in, content to ruminate on the embryonic plan that had formed in his head. He couldn’t bear to think of what could happen to the hobbit lass on the road from here out. Crossing the Misty Mountains would certainly prove dangerous, much less the miles of plains on the other side. Orcs hunting them would only make things that much more dangerous, and the crossing of the Mirkwood was fraught with more than one threat. It would be a miracle for his dwarves to make it to Esgaroth with everyone intact, much less the gentle little lass. 

She would stay here. 

However, Thorin was well aware that she would fight him if he were to tell her. The lass was headstrong and determined, but he was more so. He had told Tharkûn before that he couldn’t vouch for her safety, but that didn’t mean that he was willing to see her hurt. 

Music began, and Thorin realized that not only had the table been cleared away, but it would seem that after dinner dancing was about to begin. He glanced around, and found that Bifur had already claimed the lass for a dance. Kíli had approached the red-haired elf, and the two seemed to be squaring up to dance as well. Elrond’s daughter was standing with the Man known as Strider, the two of them giggling about something. Even Elrond’s wife – who had apparently decided to dine with someone else this evening, but join in for dancing – Celebrian was urging her husband to the floor. Only he and Tharkûn stayed at high table.

The couples began to dance, and Thorin nearly laughed at his sister’s son. Poor Kíli had chosen the wrong type of dance to do with someone who was far taller than he. Part of the dance required that the female have her hands held up over her head, and the first run through was comical. However, the second time through Kíli switched spots with the she-elf, and in a move that spoke to Kíli’s own comfort with his identity, he danced in the place of the female partner. He didn’t even seem to notice his Company mates heckling him from the sidelines.

Finally when the dance ended, and he heard a comment made by Nori, he cried out, “You’re just jealous that I’m dancing with the prettiest girl in the room!”

Every dwarf tensed, and not a few gazes switched to him, wondering how Kíli’s uncle would take that remark about an Elf. The hobbit lass was also watching him, a look of pleading in her eyes. Tharkûn seemed to still beside him, and Elrond watched with curiosity. He knew that they had good reason to hate this Elf. She wasn’t just any Elf, she was one of Thranduil’s own, but something she’d said made him rethink her a bit. Instead of condescending to the dwarves, _she empathized_. She likened herself to them, rather than trying to act superior. He’d met lower class Elves before, and they had never indicated that they could understand where a Dwarf was coming from. 

He didn’t fully understand or trust this Elf yet, but he would . . . he would give her a chance. “I wouldn’t say she is the prettiest nephew, but she’s very close.”

The looks of complete and utter surprise and disbelief on several faces in his Company was gratifying enough to justify his departure from his normal character. Even more gratifying was the look of complete delight on the hobbit’s face. She skipped up to him and gave him a very pretty little curtsey. “May I have this dance?” she asked. 

Thorin felt a bit shocked, but he gave her a nod. He rose, and they made their way down to the floor. Thorin cocked his head, and looked over to his dwarves. “I feel like a circle dance. How about Pass the Dwarrowdam?”

There were hoots of happiness as the dwarves – politely Thorin was amused to see – asked to take over the music making. As soon as they were ready, Thorin turned back to the dancers which consisted of Elrond, Celebrian, Arwen, Strider, Kíli, the redhead, himself, and the hobbit. “I would assume that some of you don’t know this dance. Kíli and I will teach you.”  
“I know it,” the redheaded elf said. “King Thranduil doesn’t much like us dancing it, but it’s so much fun!”

Thorin felt his esteem for her rise. He knew his grin had to be feral, but he couldn’t help but find joy in Thranduil’s misfortune. “Alright then, you help us teach. This dance is easy.” So the three who knew the dance taught the ones who didn’t, and the dwarves obligingly played slowly the first time through. “Alright, two steps to the right, two to the left, two to the right, two to the left, now pass the dwarrowdam!”

After one run through, Thorin nodded to the musicians. “Now, we dance it for real.” He looked to his right, where the hobbit held his hand. She smiled at him as the music began, and the dancers began. They started slowly, and then sped up with each run through until the dancers – even the reserved Elves – were left laughing as they made mistakes left and right. Around and around the circle the ladies went, Elf and hobbit, until the music finally ended, and they all shared a bow.  
Celebrian – a beautiful blonde elf that fairly dazzled the eye – clapped her hands in glee. “That was so much fun! Tell me Master Thorin, do you have another dance in mind?”

“Well, there is one . . .” he said with a grin. “I haven’t danced it in years, but I am sure Kíli knows this one as well. Mistress Hunter, do you know the Erebor Waltz?”

The redhead cocked her head, but apparently took no offense to his name for her. “Yes,” she answered with a smile. “It’s another of my favorites. She glanced down at Kíli. “I’m afraid though that you’ll have to take on the role of the lady partner again.”

The brunet dwarf smiled. “I have no objections as long as I’m dancing with you.”

Thorin could well imagine that every face in the room sported a raised brow of interest. He would have to have a talk with his nephew about being so blatantly obvious. Instead, Thorin threw himself into teaching the dance. “Alright everyone, ladies and Kíli, stand in front of your partner with your left hand in his hand like so, and your right like this . . . Yes, now we start with two skips off our right foot, two skips left, two skips right, two skips left, twirl your ladies in, clap! Now, ladies twirl center three steps, clap! Twirl back to your partner, clap! Clasp hands, twirl back to starting position!”

And then they danced. There was the requisite stumbling and messing up of first timers, but more importantly there was laughter. For Thorin, there was the laughter of the hobbit lass. She was grinning the entire time, and after the first two repetitions, she had the steps down perfectly. When they skipped together, her warm body against his, he felt his own mouth curve into a rare smile. The dance grew faster and faster, and with shrieks of glee, the other two couples eventually had to leave until only Thorin, the hobbit, the redhead Elf, and Kíli were left. 

Moving faster and faster, the four of them whirled and clapped, smiles radiant in the dim light of twilight. The onlookers clapped and shouted encouragement, until even Kíli and his partner had to admit defeat. Thorin didn’t notice, too focused on his dance with the pretty hobbit lass, dressed in his family’s colors and smiling at him like he was the most perfect thing in existence. He found himself looking down at her when she was in his arms, and soon her eyes didn’t leave his either. When the final twirl brought her into his arms one last time and they stood panting, Thorin felt the need to lean in the distance that separated their faces, separated their lips, and her own heavy lidded eyes told him she probably wouldn’t object. 

A shout from Dwalin broke the spell, and Thorin all but jerked away from her. The lass looked hurt, but he couldn’t tell her that this was a bad idea, a horrible idea, that there was no future for them and never would be. He stared another moment at her, and the decision he made earlier became all the more important. 

She was staying here. 

He strode away, saying not a word to anyone else at the party. He walked down the labyrinthine halls until he found a small garden. He stood staring at the fireflies, trying to calm his racing heart, trying to talk himself out of wishing that she didn’t have to stay here. He didn’t even notice that he wasn’t alone. 

“So you are Thorin Oakenshield.”

He whirled, and faced an Elf of such beauty that he felt his breath catch. “Who are you?”

She smiled, amusement written in large letters on her face. “I have not been spoken to with such impudence since my daughter was young.”

And then several things registered to him. Golden hair that seemed to shine even in the dark. Beauty without compare. The very aura of age that only came from the truly ancient Elves. _The Lady of Lóthlorien_. “My apologies Lady Galadriel.”

“Oh, please, do not rely on your pretty manners now King Thorin. I like you well enough without them.” She patted the seat beside her. “Sit with me. I could hear the laughter, and I see the sheen of sweat on your brow. You were dancing weren’t you?”

“Yes,” he answered as he did as she bid. If she had been anyone but who she was, he would have told her to stuff her orders, but even the Dwarves had respect for the Lady of Lóthlorien, ancient and one of the favored of the Valar. She had met Mahal, looked upon his face. As much as the Elves were detested, this one deserved respect. 

She gave him a smile that almost appeared . . .maternal. “So proud, so strong. You will make a great King, Thorin Oakenshield.”

He nodded. “Thank you,” he replied, his eyes drawn again to her hair. It was the color of the best gold, and he found himself thinking of the long ago time when Dwarves were friendly enough with Elves to even make jewelry from locks of Elven hair. Dwarven children even asked for hair of their friends still in order to make friendship bracelets. 

“But beware of your own pride,” she said softly. “I have seen what it does.”

His brow beetled. “What do you mean?”

“Have you heard the story of the Silmarils?”

He nodded. “My grandfather told me the stories that surround them.”

“Then I beg you, do not make the mistakes of Fëanor and his sons. Do not let pride and arrogance rule you, Thorin Oakenshield.” She reached forward, and when he did not protest, moved a lock from his forehead with all the care that his mother had once done so. “Our world could be so beautiful if only we do not let ourselves fall into the trap of greed and hate.”  
“May I . .” he began, but the impulse died in his throat.  
“May you, what?”

“May I have a strand of your hair?” he finally finished, embarrassment coloring his face. Such a childish request!

She smiled, again. “Of course you may.” She produced a knife, and raised it to her luxurious hair. To his shock, she cut an entire lock from the base of her neck. The coil of hair was soft and silky in his hand. “My only stipulation is that you make a bracelet for yourself, and a bracelet for your sweetheart. And while you braid them, think of all that I have said to you.”

Thorin nodded, his awe of her generosity making him speechless. “Thank you, my lady.”

“No thanks are necessary.” She said as she stood. “I leave you to your jewelry making. Have a good night, King Under the Mountain.” She left, but not without dropping a kiss on the top of his head. 

Shocked into complacency by all that had happened, he did as she bid, and when the moon rose he left that garden with two wide bracelets woven from her hair. He managed to find two sets of golden clasps in Fíli’s bag so that he could finish them just before Tharkûn called for him. One for him, and one for his sweetheart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, thanks so much for the wonderful comments and kudos! I'm glad you guys enjoy this story. 
> 
> The dances mentioned in this chapter were inspired by medieval dances. Pass the Dwarrowdam is based on the circle dance Pass the Duchess, and the Erebor Waltz is based on a really fun but really hard Russian dance whose name, I unfortunately can't remember. However, the steps I describe are approximately (I may have forgot a step or two, not a dance master!) the same as the real life dance steps.


	8. Hell Hath No Fury

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many apologies for the long wait! The beginning of the school year hit hard and fast. I would like to thank all of my readers for the kudos and comments!

Slanting sun woke Belle the next morning. She rubbed her eyes, and all but purred at the feel of the soft bed beneath her. So much more comfortable than they hard ground! She stretched with a luxurious sigh, and then sat up, looking out the window at the beauty that was Rivendell. The hobbit lass glanced over at the table in the middle of her room, and a glint of gold caught her eye. “What is that?” she murmured.

Hopping out of bed, she walked over and picked up the object sitting on the table. It was a bracelet woven of something silky, and finished with a golden clasp. She smiled a bit, wondering who would have left her such a gift. There was a note beneath it, and she picked it up to read. 

“ _Mistress Baggins_ ,” it began in a masculine scrawl, “ _Please keep this token as a promise of payment. When Erebor is reclaimed, I will return to you your rightful share of the spoils. Until then, I bid you stay in Rivendell or return to your cozy home in the Shire. Thorin._ ”

Two buildings over, Elrond and his family were awakened by a sound that could chill the bones of any being in Arda. It was a shrill, angry shriek that could probably make a balrog flinch. 

“ _Thorin Oakenshield, I am going to beat you senseless when I get ahold of you!_ ”

Gandalf, who had been deep in conversation with Lady Galadriel, felt his eyebrows rise in some slight surprise. “It appears that my hobbit is angry.”

The Lady Elf shook her head with a sigh. “That is the sound of a woman who believes herself scorned.”

“I should have known that noble fool would botch it,” Gandalf muttered beneath his breath. “Well, I best go see what Thorin has done now.”

Galadriel sat in the garden a few moments more, and was not surprised when the next bellow she heard was Gandalf’s. “ _He did what?!_ ”  
~~  
Tauriel was not entirely sure what was worse: a wizard in a mood or a hobbit in a mood. Neither one had been especially pleasant during the day’s long trek. She guessed both were still very angry at Thorin Oakenshield, and she guessed she didn’t blame them. As soon as she had set out – with Elrond’s command that she escort them all the way to Esgaroth for him – the wizard had explained the truth behind the quest. Thorin Oakenshield was going to retake his home, and Belle had been contracted as his burglar. 

Tauriel still wasn’t entirely sure if that made any sense whatsoever, but she believed Mithrandir had a purpose in mind for the small lass, and who was she to question it?

“I still can’t believe he did this to me!” Belle finally huffed. “As if I’m some heroine in a story to wait for him to come back with my gold! Of all the nerve!”

“He is a fool, I agree with you there,” Mithrandir groused. “A distrusting, pigheaded idiot! To leave two of his most important allies behind!”

“Perhaps he left Belle because he didn’t want her to get hurt?” the redhead put forth, remembering Belle’s rousing tale of trolls. Not to mention that Tauriel remembered why Erebor was lost in the first place. She didn’t blame Oakenshield for refusing to let the sweet little lass go up against a _dragon_.

Mithrandir had a strange expression on his face, but Belle’s was patently disgusted. “Of course the fool did!” Belle all but bellowed. “He thinks I’m useless!”

“When we catch up with him, we will be sure to give him a piece of both of our minds!” MIthrandir said.  
~~  
Two days into the trek, and the little trio were finally gaining on the dwarves. “They move fast,” Tauriel had noted the first day. 

“Dwarves can navigate mountains like no other race,” Gandalf had replied. 

Belle kept quiet after her initial outburst, still seething inside. He’d given her a trinket and then told her to stay in Rivendell like she was his to command! She had signed that contract to burgle a dragon, and by Yavanna she would _burgle that bloody dragon!_

Tauriel shielded her eyes from the rain and pointed ahead. “Look!”

Belle watched the Company pile into a cave just off of the path they’d been using to navigate the craggy peaks. “What’s wrong? They’re getting out of the rain.”

“No,” Tauriel said sharply. “They’re walking right into trouble.”

Gandalf shook his head. “She’s right. Goblins infest these mountains. The only caves you’ll find here are traps or entrances to the Goblin kingdom.”

“What can we do?”

Gandalf drew Glamdring. “We follow them in, and we get them out.”

Tauriel drew her own short swords. “Let us go then.”

Belle didn’t feel as confident as the two of them, but she followed their lead as they entered a cave not far from the one in which the Company had entered. Not far in, Belle checked the need to wretch. The smell was beyond disgusting, and she knew that breathing through her mouth wouldn’t help very much. The sound of singing drew them into a massive cavern, and Belle felt her blood run cold at the sight.

A sea of deformed creatures surrounded a rickety-looking platform and a gluttonous looking giant seemed to lord over them all. He was the one singing, his folds of repulsive fat jiggling as he swayed to and fro. As a hobbit, Belle found a healthy bit of fat on a lad somewhat attractive, but this grotesque obesity was far from healthy. In the midst of it all, Belle could see the Company. “What do we do?” she asked, her eyes glued on the Dwarves. She spied Bifur, and felt a moment of happiness that her foster father was alright. 

Gandalf snorted. “Why we come to their rescue my dear!” He tapped his staff on the ground. “Now, stay very close to me, and when the staff flashes, be ready to run.”

~~  
One moment, Thorin was staring up at the Goblin King with loathing writ across his face, the next he was running for his life. It was happening so fast, but a few things registered on his mind: Gandalf had come to their rescue, the not-that-bad redheaded Elf was fighting alongside him, and the hobbit lass was running with her hand in Bifur’s as the dwarf helped keep her in the middle of the pack. 

Suddenly, their way was blocked by the Goblin King. “I will suck your marrow for a snack!” he shrieked. 

Tharkûn took that moment to hand Orcrist back to Thorin. “Keep this close, Oakenshield.” Then with a mighty lunge, the wizard slashed the great goblin’s throat. The weight of the goblin caused the platform to shake and then break from its moorings, and the Company shrieked in abject terror as it plummeted through the air. 

It was only by the grace of Mahal that they landed with no one injured, and they were up and running again as soon as it was apparent that the goblins really weren’t going to let them get away. Tharkûn led the way, his staff lighting the darkness as they sprinted through the labyrinthine tunnels. They burst from the darkness out onto a mountainside lit by late afternoon sun, but they kept running down the side of the mountain. Finally, a fair distance from the cave they’d exited, the Company began to slow and stop. 

All of them were covered in dirt and a little bruised, breathing hard and simply glad to have escaped. The Elf maid looked almost bizarre with her disheveled hair and smudge of blood on one cheek, all of it so at odds with the Elvish perfection of her face and form. Tharkûn appeared to be the least effected, and Mistress Baggins somehow still appeared to be utterly adorable with a smudge of dirt streaked across her nose. 

Belladonna Rose Baggins. 

Thorin focused on her, and he felt his temper flare. “What are you doing here?!” he growled.

She turned to him from where she’d been checking on Bifur, and Thorin nearly quailed at the look of absolute murder in her eyes. Only his stubbornness kept him from doing so. “What am I doing here? I’m apparently helping to save you from your own stupidity!”

“You were supposed to stay in Rivendell!”

“Oh no!” she snapped marching up to him with her finger wagging in time to each emphatic statement, “Oh no, you are not telling me to stay behind! I signed a contract, and I will fulfill the terms of that contract, and no one is going to stop me! I left my home, probably shredded any chance of getting married to a nice staid hobbit lad when it gets around that I left in the company of a bunch of Dwarven men, have nearly been killed by trolls and goblins, had to sleep on the hard ground, and gone without second breakfast! I did not do or endure any of those things to be left behind like some damsel in a story!”

“Why?” he bellowed, “Why are you so determined to put yourself in danger?!”

Belle reared back, her eyes still snapping in anger. But instead of an angry yell, she began to sing softly. “ _Far over the Misty Mountains cold . ._.”

She closed her eyes, and then reopened them. “Because I listened to a bunch of Dwarves sing about the home they lost while sitting in the middle of my cozy little smial. Because I looked around my home, and couldn’t imagine a world where I didn’t belong. Because maybe, just maybe, a hobbit lass could help someone belong somewhere again.”

It was Thorin’s turn to rear back, surprise coursing through him. He looked at her, the need to drag her into his arms and tell her what she had become to him almost choking him. Before he could react, the sound of wargs wailing fell over them. 

“Orcs!” Fíli cried. 

“Run!”

Dwarves, Elf, hobbit, and wizard run for their lives, but soon came to the realization that they were trapped. “To the trees!” Tharkûn cried. 

The Company clambered up the trees, and for a moment were safe. Thorin glanced around, taking stock. The Elf was busy taking aim and slaying wargs with her bow, but as soon as the wargs began to knock the trees down, she brought her bow back around her shoulder. “Go!” she cried, and the Dwarves followed her in hopping from one tree to another. But soon, too soon, there was nowhere else to go. 

A flaming pinecone sailed by Thorin’s head, and he looked back to see Tharkûn being useful for once, setting the pine cones aflame for the others to lob at the wargs. Soon, their tree was surrounded by a corral of fire, and in rode the one being guaranteed to cause Thorin more grief than any other. 

Azog. 

The pale orc sneered, and bellowed something in Black Speech. Thorin barely heard it, his world narrowed to a pinprick. The warm light of the fires cast sinister shadows over the pale orc and his warg, and that was all that he could see. Anger boiled up in his guts, and he drew Orcrist with one thought beating through his head: revenge.

He stalked down the tree, and charged for the orc. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the warg materializing out of the shadows, but wasn’t able to check his charge. Crushing jaws closed around his middle, and he felt sharp teeth pierce leather and then flesh. The warg shook him, and then threw him like he was a small doll. Sky flew by his eyes, and then the impact stole his breath. He heard Azog give another command, and he willed his body to move, but nothing happened. 

He turned his head finally, and saw the orc approaching, sword out ready to take his life. Thorin had no voice, but his mind railed against this injustice. There was still so much to do, so much to accomplish, he had to retake Erebor, and –

_What is that gods-awful screaming?_

Suddenly, the orc was bowled over by a small bundle of streaming golden hair and hatred, and Thorin felt his jaw drop a bit at the hobbit lass, her blue shining blade becoming marred with the orc’s dark blood. She was the one screaming, a high wail that sounded like a dwarrowdam’s warcry, not a deep bellow but a piercing clarion call of rage rending the night air. It was a sound that made the hair stand up on one’s body, a sound that was guaranteed to discomfit even orcs as evidenced by Azog’s apparent hesitation at the death of his subordinate. The pale orc only blinked at the savage little thing, brow furrowing in confusion. 

The other orcs didn’t move, but Azog finally dismounted from his warg steed. The hobbit lass stood in front of Thorin, and the dwarf tried again desperately to make himself move. She would be slaughtered by the orc. 

But he needn’t have worried. The lass’s foolhardy charge had brought new life to his Company, and the deeper bellows of the others roared through the night. Azog and his orcs found their attention diverted by the more experienced fighters. Seeing that she was no longer needed to fight, the hobbit turned and fell to her knees beside Thorin. “You’re going to be okay,” she said softly. “We’re going to be okay.”

Thorin fought to say something, but finally he couldn’t fight the darkness that surrounded him any longer.  
~~  
Kíli felt the air flowing by his face, and finally opened his eyes. Soft feathers cushioned his cheek, and he sat up a little bit without relinquishing the death grip he had on the quills beneath him. Stars twinkled above him, but they were far too close, especially for a child of Mahal so used to touching life-giving stone at any given moment. 

A hand closed over his, and his head whipped around. His dark eyes clashed with a pair of lighter ones, and he realized that the object of his affections was riding the eagle with him. Tauriel’s hair was pulled back severely, braided and tied down so that it didn’t lash about in the fierce wind like his was doing now. She smiled gently. “It’s okay. The eagle won’t drop us. You can sit up.”

A part of Kíli that was still a child almost rebelled at this, but a greater part of him realized that she was probably right. Gingerly he rose, glancing around him as he did. A great flock of the magnificent birds surrounded them, and he spied the light robes of Tharkûn as well as the distinctive white of Balin’s hair and beard. The others were spread about, but his eyes searched for his uncle. 

When he finally found him, the young dwarf nearly cried out in relief. He looked back to his companion and smiled. “Well, wasn’t that an adventure?”

A red brow peaked. “Yes, but one that I would prefer not going on again if at all possible.”

Kíli merely grinned. “Now that, I think I can agree with.”

She smiled a little and shook her head. “You are a crazy one aren’t you?”

“I don’t know, have you met my uncle?” It had been meant as a jest, but the tone came out a bit bitter.

Tauriel’s eyes went down to the back of the eagle. “I don’t think I can say for certain about that.”

He sighed. “I love my uncle, but his crusades against Azog and Thranduil get tiresome and dangerous sometimes.”

“Azog I understand,” she replied, “But what problem does he have with Lord Thranduil?”

“The Elvish Betrayer, as my dearest uncle calls him, didn’t render aid when Smaug attacked.”

Her face grew troubled. “My Lord Thranduil lost much the last time he fought a dragon. Perhaps that is why he made that decision. I would not know since I arose to my current post after the events of that day.”

Kíli remembered the one time his mother had spoken of that day, and then the hungry days afterwards when the nearby Men had called them cursed and refused to give their help. “He didn’t have to fight the dragon! He could have given us food! Shelter! But instead the Dwarves were forced to wander the land like vagabonds. My mother watched two pregnant dwarrowdams nearly die from lack of proper food, and then the babes were born still! Precious dwarven children dead because of him!”

The Elf reared back, and her face looked a bit thunderous. “And think you that your grandfather had nothing to do with that? I was one of the group sent to offer food and shelter, and your grandfather screamed obscenities at us. I believe I was referred to as a ‘tree-shagging whore’. But by all means, blame Thranduil for all of your hardships!”

He winced at that, and didn’t reply immediately. They flew in silence for a few moments, her anger radiating through the air while he mulled over what she had said. Perhaps he came to this conclusion so quickly because he was young and not yet blinded by years of Dwarven machismo, but he finally said, “I’m sorry.”

She blinked and then looked over at him with a slightly confused expression on her face. “You’re sorry for what?”

“Handing out blame where it is not due,” Kíli replied. “Maybe our circumstances aren’t completely because of Thranduil’s actions. I never met my great-grandfather, so I don’t know if that is really something he would say to you . . . but I believe you when you say he insulted you. I mean, sometimes my mother told us about our great-grandfather’s madness. Refusing aid even if it is from someone who has proven faithless when you’re that desperate does not sound like the actions of a sound mind.”

Tauriel gave her head a shake. “When will you stop confounding me? Dwarves are supposed to be overly proud and pig-headed. Where did all of this reasonableness come from?”

He smiled. “Oh, trust me, I can be quite pigheaded when I want to be.”

She laughed, a restrained sound that still managed to shiver along all of Kíli’s spine. Tauriel looked up and smiled. “They’re so beautiful.”

He looked up, wondering what she was talking about. “What? The stars?”

“Yes. We Wood Elves love best the light of the stars.” She closed her eyes. “It will soon be the Feast of Memory, where we all feast beneath their light. I hope to be there for it.”

Speaking of the stars made him all the more aware of how much she was like a star. So beautiful, with a perfection that seemed unreachable. He looked back up at the dome of the sky and wished that there was some way to truly capture the light of a star for he would dearly love to keep this one forever.  
~~  
When Thorin next awoke, it was to Tharkûn’s face. The wizard had a huge smile on his face, and with a relieved sigh proclaimed, “He is alright.”

A cheer went up from his Company, and Thorin was helped to his feet by Dwalin, who hugged him fiercely. “We nearly thought you were done for.”

“The lass,” Thorin whispered hoarsely. “The hobbit, where is she?”

The dwarves quieted, and they parted ranks. Bifur stood in front of the lass, a fierce look in his eye, but then he cocked his head and stepped out of the way. Thorin stared at the hobbit, taking in her disheveled appearance. Dirt had been joined by orc blood, and her hair was a windblown mess of curls haloing her head. 

“I knew from the beginning,” he announced while striding towards her, “That you would be more trouble than you were worth. Useless and nothing more than a distraction for the Company.”

She looked to be ready to argue, but by then he’d reached her. Before the first angry rebuttal could leave her mouth, Thorin pulled her into the shelter of his arms, hugging the lass fiercely. “I have never been so glad to be wrong,” he said. Then he whispered, “Belladonna Rose.”

After a moment of shock, he felt her arms wrap around him, and she buried her face into his shoulder. “I’m glad you’re alright.”

Neither seemed to notice the cheering in the background until it changed. “ _Inmî! Inmî! Inmî!_ ”

Thorin reared away, and turned to glare at his wayward dwarves. “What are they saying?”

He looked back to Belladonna Rose, realizing that his arms still encircled her, and now her hands were on his upper arms. She was blushing prettily, and he was about to answer her when something in the distance caught his eye. Recognition shocked him to the marrow. “Look,” he whispered reverently, walking to the edge of the Carrock. 

“Is that it?” Belladonna Rose whispered from beside him.

“Yes,” he answered as his Company surrounded them. Beside her, the Elf maiden stood, and Tharkûn gazed at them all from behind. Thorin didn’t even notice that his arm was still around the hobbit lass’s waist, or that she was leaning into his side with a pleasantly warm weight.

“Erebor.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise, there is more to come! This is the end of the first arc corresponding to AUJ, but the story will continue on to the end of BOTFA. 
> 
> Thank you again for reading!


	9. Dragon Dreams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the *very* long wait, but this first semester was a killer. I was dealing with a bit of writing fatigue on top of just generally being horrendously busy. Just so you guys know, I am a school teacher in real life, so summertime is great for writing, but the school year itself can be a bit hard. 
> 
> But here is the beginning of the second arc of our story.

Beneath the mountain, all was blackness. 

Halls where proud dwarrow once roamed lay under dust and cobwebs that had not been disturbed in two centuries. In the once busy kitchens dotted throughout the dead kingdom bones so brittle were the only remnants of food long since decayed into nothing. Tapestries and linens made delicate and nearly untouchable by time lay for the most part undisturbed – except for those that had been woven with golden thread and gems. In nooks and crannies throughout the mountain there lay the mummified bodies of hundreds of ill-fated dwarves, many with faces still contorted in expressions of despair. 

Only one room still had light, and it was a room lit by magic and dragon fire. Piles of gold beyond imagining created a desert of warm metal and cold fire gems. Of the new king under the mountain, there was no visible sign, unless you knew where to look. In the largest dune of coins lay a dragon of red scale and leathery wing. It barely breathed, it did not need to eat, and all of its life was tied to the destruction it had wrought. 

But unknown to all the creatures of Arda, even the dark father of the dragons, the dragon dreamed. All dragons did. They dreamed of their gold, dreamed of all their desires made real. This dragon dreamed of five siblings sitting in a circle, singing songs long unheard in Middle Earth, dreamed of a grey wizard before he donned wrinkled skin and grizzled beard, dreamed of a sweet-faced little creature that the dragon had never seen before. 

Smaug shifted in his sleep.  
~~  
The journey down the side of the steep Carrock was slow. None of the dwarves had managed to sleep the night before, all of them too disconcerted by riding through the sky on eagle back. Belle lacked sleep for a completely different reason, but Gandalf seemed to be the only one who had gained any rest the night before. He helped Thorin under the watchful eye of Óin. Belle could tell from his face that Thorin’s wounds pained him dreadfully, but she was loath to break their little truce by saying something to the hardheaded dwarf. 

She still couldn’t believe that Thorin had hugged her. Those moments on the Carrock where she’d gone from the depths of anger to the heights of joy had been a whirlwind of sensation. She’d been so happy that Thorin was alive, then so angry that he would say such things, and then her heart had burst with joy as his arms had wrapped around her. She would treasure that moment for the rest of her life. 

“And what’s got you looking all starry-eyed?” a sly voice said into her ear. 

Belle checked the need to shriek, but settled for giving Bofur a dirty look. “None of your concern,” she murmured.   
“Oh, so you say,” Bofur said with a small smile, “But you’re my cousin now. I won’t be letting anyone get to close without making sure he’s good for you.”

She really was about to let him have it when she saw something out of the corner of her eye. “What’s that?” she asked, pointing off to their right. 

Bofur followed her finger and swore colorfully. “Orcs!”  
~~  
Tauriel ran like the wind, marveling at the endurance of the dwarves. They had been running from the orcs for over a week, barely resting as they continued to move through the seemingly endless forest. She also knew that the orcs weren’t far behind. The howls of their wargs sounded close. 

“This way!” Gandalf thundered, and the Company went running towards his pointing finger. Elf, hobbit, dwarves, and wizard sprinted out into the bright sunlight only to hear a horrible roar following them out of the trees. 

The Elf maiden was tempted to look back, but she knew that if she did so she courted disaster. Fleet feet were often fouled by nerves. Instead she pushed herself until her long legs took her before the dwarves. It was she who opened the garden gate she came to, and then gestured for the others to follow her. “Come!” 

The dwarves didn’t need telling twice, but in horror, Tauriel watched Belle fall behind. Even Gandalf was through the gate before she was able to call out and warn the others of their slower companion. “Belle!” she screamed as orcs broke from the trees riding their terrible mounts. 

The hobbit lass made the mistake that Tauriel herself had not. She twisted back to see how far the orcs were, and her foot caught on something in the field. She went down hard, and Tauriel moved without thought. She sprinted back to the hobbit lass, barely registering out of the corner of her eye that Thorin was right beside her along with Bifur. They made an odd sight to the others, the flame-haired Elf maid flanked by the grizzled old dwarf and the majestic king-in-exile. But in a flash, the Elf knew that they would never make it to Belle before the orc. 

Another horrible roar rolled through the air like thunder, and a gigantic brown bear body-slammed the lead warg, throwing the others in disarray. The milling wargs plainly did not like the scent of the bear at all, and many disobeyed their riders by running back whence they came. The bear gave another ear shattering roar before turning to Belle. Tauriel had already pulled her bow, but was stopped by a shouted command from Mithrandir.

“Do that bear no harm!”

The three stopped mere feet from the bear and lass, but none made any move to attack the huge creature. Instead they watched as the bear examined the little lass on the ground. The great muzzle filled with bone-crushing teeth was only a hand span from Belle’s face, but she didn’t scream or cry. Instead, she sat quietly, as if she knew any sudden movements would raise the beast’s ire. The bear sniffed her hair, and chuffed. However, when it looked up at Tauriel, Bifur, and Thorin, it growled low in its throat. 

When its great head turned back to Belle it surprised the three by nuzzling her face. A surprised giggle burst from Belle’s throat, and the look of absolute terror fled her face. Bifur said something in the secret language of dwarves that had Thorin saying in reply, “She does have the knack for that doesn’t she?”

With the help of the bear, Belle stood and gave them all a shaky smile. She placed a hand on the top of the bear’s head, and the creature seemed to not only tolerate the contact but relish it. It moved forwards, and Belle followed along with a gesture for the others to come with her. Tauriel fell in step beside her, and the two dwarves kept a healthy distance between themselves and the beast. They approached the cozy – if positively huge – cottage in an ambling gait that seemed to mock the frenzied pace they’d set in order to reach it the first time. The bear growled again to see all of the dwarves in the garden, but oddly intelligent brown eyes examined Mithrandir before walking to the door. 

The bear opened the door deftly, as if it had done this same thing many a time, and herded Belle in using its massive head. It turned back in the doorway, gently wrapping its jaws around Tauriel’s gauntleted arm. With equal gentleness it pulled Tauriel into the cottage, and then pointedly shut the door on the rest of the Company. The Elf could hear the small uproar this caused before Gandalf’s weary voice said with overt annoyance, “Do not worry. Beorn is set in his ways and ill-tempered, but he will not harm either one of them.”

With that, the bear began to change and shift. Fur receded, and claws became sharp fingernails. The short muzzle retreated into a man-shaped face, and Beorn retreated into another room before he returned completely shifted into his man-form. He was dressed in simple pants and a tunic of linen, but his wild hair stuck up in multiple directions. “So tell me, mistress Elf, milady Bunny, why do I have orcs on my lands?”

Tauriel bowed, finally realizing just what Beorn was. “Master Skinchanger, I am Tauriel of the Greenwood, and I apologize for bringing orcs to your doorstep.”

He nodded in acknowledgement of the apology, but did not reply. Instead he looked to Belle, who smiled brightly. “I am Belladonna Rose Baggins of the Shire. Thank you for protecting me.”

Again he answered with a nod. Then he looked up at the door with a mild look of distaste. “And the dwarves?”  
“They’re with us,” the two said in unison.

~~  
Thorin brooded into his mead, even though the others heartily enjoyed the fruits of Beorn’s table. He’d not liked one thing that had occurred since they’d arrived here. First the bear abducting their burglar and then the conversation they’d had with said bear later. 

After letting the rest of the party into the small cottage, Tharkun had explained to Beorn their purpose. The skinchanger had been unmoved by it, explaining his dislike of dwarves. Just when it looked like he’d deny them any more help, he gestured to the Elf Huntress and Mistress Baggins. “But for the Elf Maiden and the Little Bunny, I will allow you to rest here and supply you. As for the orcs, well I hate them more than I hate dwarves.”

Not the best reply in the history of Arda, but Thorin had been more put out by the fact that the skinchanger seemed determined to spoil Mistress Baggins rotten. When he’d set his table – which thankfully held a properly omnivorous selection of food – he had placed the Huntress to his right, Tharkun to his left, and Belle on his shoulder. Her twinkling laugh had sparkling through the cottage as she said, “I haven’t done this in years!”

“Done what?” Kili had asked, quickly seating himself beside the Huntress. 

“Ridden a shoulder of someone tall! When I was child and went to Bree with my father sometimes the Big Men would take me and the other fauntlings up, but I haven’t done this since I was at least fifteen!” She patted Beorn’s great skull. “Thank you!”

His face softened, and Thorin had realized that the skinchanger delighted in her. “It is my pleasure Little Bunny.”

The meal commenced with Belle still up on his shoulder, and Beorn would hand her morsels of food when she asked, and he didn’t mind that she would reach back – somewhat precariously to Thorin’s mind – and place her cup on the mantle behind her. The dwarves answered questions Beorn posed, which ranged from the orcs following them to a discussion of the proper way to cook venison. Thorin said little, stewing on the sight of his burglar perched upon the skinchanger’s shoulder. 

~~  
“My uncle is brooding very loudly down there.”

Tauriel looked up from where she was sharpening her woefully dulled dagger with a raised eyebrow. She had half expected either Kili or Belle to join her up in the rafters as the other dwarves were engaged in drunken games with an equally drunken Beorn, but instead it was Fili who spoke to her. The blond prince plopped down close to her and examined her blade with a critical eye. “Fine blade,” he said. 

“Thank you,” she replied. “And why do you speak of your uncle to me?”

“Because my brother seems to like you a lot,” he answered candidly, “And I decided to see if his regard is founded.”

Tauriel nodded, and glanced down at Thorin. The dwarven king was staring into the fire, his face set into an expression of intense thought. “Your uncle tends to do a great deal of that.”

“Brooding?” Fili replied with a smile. “Yes he does. My mother sometimes says it’s his best sport.”

The Elf had to chuckle at that, and the two dropped into a companionable silence. Tauriel debated breaking it to ask a question that had been nagging her, and decided eventually to just go for it. “May ask the meaning of something I heard Bifur say?”

Fili didn’t answer verbally, but instead lift his eyebrows in her general direction. Carefully, she repeated the series of sounds Bifur made, hoping that she was not completely butchering the sentence. The blond prince only winced once, so she guessed that she’d not done a terrible job. “Bifur said ‘This is the trolls all over again.’ I assume he said that when Belle and Beorn met.”

She nodded. “Your uncle had said something about her having a knack for it, but I was wondering what it was.”

“Regular beast tamer our Belladonna is,” Fili said with a chuckle. “She regularly tames my uncle.”

Tauriel placed her whetstone to the side and gave Fili her full attention. “What is your real reason for coming to me, Prince?”

He held her gaze for a few moments, green Elf eyes locked with Dwarven brown. “My uncle is entranced with a hobbit lass, and my brother enchanted with an Elf maid. I have decided that Belle can do no harm, but I needed to speak with you. Kili is young and stupid and stubborn, and I won’t see him hurt.”

“I have no siblings,” Tauriel said, “Nor parents that would make the same threat for me. The closest I have is a king who would chide me for my interest and an old friend who would probably react only with jealousy.”

Fili nodded, understanding what she was saying. “So the enchantment runs both ways?”

“I am young,” she said, “Though my station belies it, I am a youngster to the others in the Wood. Kili . . .” She smiled fondly. “He makes me happy. He makes me feel like I can be a youngster without repercussion. He wonders at all the same things I do about this world. I like being with him.”

Fili smiled at her. “Then I’ll make you a promise: if Kili breaks your heart, I’ll break his head since you have no one else to do so.”

She laughed, and for a moment Fili could understand why his brother was so entranced. “Thank you, Prince.”

“Aw! Just call me Fili.”

Neither one acknowledged that in all likelihood, both Tauriel and Kili would end up with broken hearts.

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is my first foray into Hobbit fiction, but this plot bunny jumped from the recesses of my mind almost fully formed after beginning to read _The Hobbit_ ,slogging through the first few parts of _The Silmarillion_ and running across some fem!Bilbo fiction here. I thought about doing some regular Bagginshield first, but this insisted on being written. 
> 
> I've got a few chapters written up, but they will probably be spaced out a couple weeks at a time right now. I do appreciate comments! Thank you for reading!


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